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i.Jfo 


•SM-UBRARYQr         A^UIBRA 

§11171  II  If 


THE 


LAST  NIGHT  OF  POMPEII; 


LAYS    AND    LEGENDS. 


BY    SUMNER    LINCOLN    FAIRFIELD. 


NEW-YORK  : 
PRINTED  BY  ELLIOTT  AND  PALMER,    20  WILLIAM-STREET. 


MDCCCXXXII. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  on  the  6th  day  of  October, 
1831,  by  Lucy  Fairfield,  in  the  District  Clerk's  Office  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New- York. 


PS 


PREFACE. 


THE  cities  of  Herculaneum,  Pompeii,  Retina, 
and  Stabise,  with  many  beautiful  villages,  were 
destroyed  by  an  eruption  of  Mount  Vesuvius, 
during  the  first  year  of  the  reign  of  Titus,  on 
the  24th  of  August,  seventy-nine.  Buried  du 
ring  more  than  seventeen  hundred  years,  even 
their  very  names  were  almost  forgotten,  when 
the  plough  of  a  peasant  struck  upon  the  roof  of 
the  loftiest  and  most  magnificent  mansion  in 
Pompeii ;  and  the  excavations  of  the  last  fifty 
years  have  furnished  the  tourist,  the  antiquarian, 
the  novelist,  and  the  poet,  with  many  a  subject 
of  picturesque  and  glowing  description.  The 
cities  of  the  dead  have  not  wanted  frequent  and 
often  faithful  historians  ;  every  disinterred  tem 
ple,  theatre,  statue,  pillar,  tomb,  and  painting,  has 
found  admirers.  It  was  expedient,  therefore,  to 
throw  action  into  a  picture  at  all  times  itnpres- 

<;>..^  O 


PHEFACE. 


sive,  and  to  delineate  without  flattery  those  ex 
isting  manners,  customs,  and  morals,  which, 
sanctioned  as  they  were,  not  only  by  usage,  but 
by  legislators  and  the  priesthood,  can  leave  little 
regret  and  less  astonishment  at  the  terrible  over 
throw  of  cities  as  excessive  and  not  so  venial  in 
their  crimes  as  Gomorrah. 

The  founders  of  Rome,  like  the  Pelasgi  of 
Greece,  were  outlawed   fugitives   from   almost 
every  nation — the  very  seminoles  of  the  world. 
Their  earliest   laws,    discipline,  science,    and 
literature,   were   all   created   by  habitual   war. 
Political  ascendancy,    acquired   by  remorseless 
military  skill,  was  with  each  the  highest  good ; 
and  hence,  though  less  capricious  and  somewhat 
more  grateful  than  the  Athenians,  there  never 
was  a  period  in  Rome,  when  the  people,  after 
long  suffering,  exacted  their  rights  without  incur 
ring  the  vengeance  of  the  patricians.     The  aris 
tocracy  held  the  supreme  power ;  in  their  esteem 
the  commonalty  were  vassals  of  the  soil.     To 
resist  these  arrogated'privileges,  the  tribunes  in 
stigated  factions,  and  the  venerable  Forum  be 
came  the  arena  of  revolt,  conspiracy,  and  blood. 
The  very  senators  ascended  the  rostrum  spotted 
with  gore.    Liberty  was  defined  by  philosophers, 
developed  by  rhetorical  declaimers  and  adored 
in  the  fictions  of  poesy,  but  it  was  never  enjoyed . 


PREFACE. 


There  were  grandeur,  vast  dominions,  empires 
in  bondage,  triumphal  processions,  unrivalled 
wealth,  magnificent  prodigality  and  profligacy, 
but  no  just  freedom.  Roman  citizenship  was 
national  pride,  not  individual  prerogative.  The 
ignorant  cannot  govern  though  they  may  tyran 
nize  ;  and  ancient  sages  and  priests  were  too 
wise  to  instruct  the  multitude,  though  they  valued 
uninitiated  sectaries ;  for  communicated  know 
ledge  would  supersede  the  lucrative  occupations 
and  mysterious  powers  of  their  successors. 

Caesar  rose  upon  the  ruins  of  the  consulship 
as  that  had  risen  upon  the  decemvirate.  Au 
thority  now  became  personal,  concentrated  and 
unappealable,  but  otherwise  there  was  little 
change.  The  senate  had  long  been  the  mere 
market  of  ambition  ;  the  people  were  mercena 
ries  or  serfs  ;  the  consuls  were  colluders  of  some 
faction,  perpetually  renewed,  or  its  obedient 
slaves ;  and  the  victorious  commander  of  the 
legions,  long  the  arbiter  of  the  Roman  destinies, 
on  the  field  of  Pharsalia,  merely  decorated  im 
perial  power  with  a  diadem. 

Titus  was  the  tenth  emperor,  and  doubtless 
a  just  man  ;  but  the  epithets  of  exaggerated 
praise  bestowed  upon  him,  sufficiently  indicate 
the  character  of,  at  least,  seven  of  his  predeces 
sors  ;  and  his  own  brief  reign,  which  was  terrni- 


Tl  PREFACE. 


nated  by  the  poison  of  his  inhuman  brother  Do- 
mitian,  demonstrates  the  morals,  humanity,  and 
courage  of  the  age.  Therefore,  in  the  picture  I 
have  attempted  to  draw,  I  have  not  been  intimi 
dated  by  the  victories,  arts,  literature  or  mytholo 
gy  of  the  Romans,  but  have  desired  to  paint  with 
fidelity  the  universal  licentiousness,  which,  hav 
ing  infected  every  heart,  left  the  battlements  of 
the  Eternal  City  ready  to  fall  before  the  barbarian 
avenger. 

Every  province  of  the  vast  empire  rivalled  the 
imperial  capital ;  and  almost  every  proconsul 
imitated — sometimes  even  exceeded — the  des 
potism  and  debaucheries  of  Caligula  and  Helio- 
gabalus.  The  union  of  civil  and  military  power, 
while  it  concentrated  the  energies  of  government, 
conferred  upon  the  provincial  commander  an 
irresponsible  authority,  against  which  it  was  folly 
to  remonstrate,  and  madness  to  rebel.  The  fa 
thers  of  Rome  were  too  corrupt  to  investigate 
the  sources  of  their  revenue  or  the  characters  of 
its  gatherers  ;  and  too  indolent  in  patrician  pro 
fligacy  to  execute  any  edicts  except  such  as 
suited  their  own  haughty  yet  grovelling  passions. 
The  fountain  being  thus  contaminated,  its  thou 
sand  streams  distributed  corruption  over  the 
whole  empire;  and  all,  who  drank  its  waters, 
partook  the  character  of  them  who  watched  be- 


PREFACE.  Vll 


side  the  wellspring.  Few  of  those  who  wore 
the  Roman  crown,  died  by  the  ordinance  of  na 
ture  ;  the  Praetorians,  like  the  modern  Janizaries 
and  Strelitzes,  obeyed  the  decisions  of  their  tur 
bulent  prefects ;  and  whatsa  Sejanus  failed  to  ac 
complish  for  himself,  a  more  politic  Macro  ef 
fected  for  another,  through  whom  he  ruled  every 
thing  but  that  imperial  folly  which  ended  in  as 
sassination.  Yet  sanguinary  as  was  the  ascent, 
unhappy  the  possession  and  quick  the  downfall 
of  power,  the  governors  of  the  provinces  were 
less  implicated  in  the  royal  revolutions  than  al 
most  any  men  in  Rome.  While  the  Quaestor  of 
the  Palatine  discovered  no  defalcation  of  the 
revenue,  and  no  rumor  of  sedition  reached  the 
senate,  the  proconsul  remained  in  his  lucrative 
government  during  pleasure  ;  and  none  of  all 
the  Conscript  Fathers  deemed  it  expedient  to 
examine  the  condition  of  the  country  over  which 
he  swayed  his  iron  rod. 


THE  LAST  NIGHT  OF  POMPEII. 


CANTO    I. 


MID  mellow  folds  of  softly  floating  gold, 
The  flowered  pavilions  of  the  spirit  winds, 
That  waved  in  music  to  the  Ausonian  breeze, 
And  blent,  like  heart-smiles,  with  the  deep  blue  vault 
Of  beautiful  Campania,  like  a  God, 
(Titan  in  ancient  dreams,  whose  faintest  smile 
Elysian  splendors  breathed  through  ocean's  realm,) 
Casting  aside  earth's  throbbing  dust,  to  put 
His  diadem  of  deathless  glory  on, 
The  sun  went  slowly  down  the  Appenines. 
Far  up  the  living  dome  of  heaven,  the  clouds, 
Pearling  the  azure,  like  a  seraph's  robe, 
Wreathed  o'er  the  blessed  and  beaming  face  of  heaven, 
And  glanced,  mid  blush  and  shadow,  o'er  the  sky, 
Full  of  the  gentle  spirit  of  the  air, 

2 


10  THE    LAST     N  1011  T  [CANTO    I. 

The  mediator  of  the  elements. 
As  if  imbued  with  virgin  thought,  the  leaves 
Tenderly  smiled  their  loveliness,  and  sighed, 
O'er  the  hushed  summer  earth,  their  music,  soft 
As  the  sky-hymns  o'er  wandering  souls  forgiven. 
The  hills  cast  giant  shadows,  in  whose  depth 
Wild  jagged  rocks,  and  solitary  floods, 
And  forests  gnarled  and  hoar,  looking  deep  awe, 
Like  the  vast  deserts  of  a  dream,  replied 
To  voices  of  unresting  phantoms,  there 
Till  day-dreams,  wrapt  in  dark  sublimities. 
On  the  fair  shores  and  sea-worn  promontories, 
Where  many  a  Doric  palace,  proudly  built, 
And  overwhelmed  by  grandeur,  silent  stood, 
Save  when  the  twilight  waters  whispered  low 
Their  vigil  anthem,  childlike  slumbered  now, 
In  speechless  beauty,  the  last  light ;  afar, 
The  avalanche  in  the  ravine  glimmered  back 
The  trembling  and  most  transitory  glow ; 
The  beaked  and  burnished  galleys  on  the  wave 
With  quivering  banners  hung,  and  gay  triremes 
Passed  by  each  isle  and  headland  like  the  shade 
Of  Enna's  idol  through  the  realm  of  Dis. 
All  nature,  in  her  holy  hour  of  love, 
Lifted  in  rapture  the  heart's  vesper  prayer. 


CANTO    I.]  OFPOMPEII.  11 

And  thus  from  Pompeii's  Field  of  Tombs  the  voice 
Of  Vesta's  priestess,  o'er  the  sepulchres 
Bending  beneath  the  holy  Heaven,  sent  up 
The  anguish  of  bereavement,  and  the  doubts 
Of  an  immortal  mind  that  knew  not  yet 
Its  immortality,  yet  seeking  e'er 
A  deathless  hope  and  sighing  o'er  the  pomp 
Profane  of  paynim  adoration  vain. 

THE   VESTAL'S   HYMN. 

Zephyr  of  twilight !  thine  elysian  breath 

In  spirit  music  steals  through  orange  groves  : 

Bringst  thou  no  memories  from  the  home  of  death  ? 
No  whispered  yearnings  from  departed  loves  ? 

Fann'd  not  thy  wing,  ere  stars  above  thee  glowed, 
The  pure  pale  brow  that  on  my  birth-hour  smiled  ? 

And  bearst  thou  not  from  Destiny's  abode 
One  kiss  from  mother  to  her  vestal  child  ? 

Cold  sleep  the  ashes  of  the  heart  that  breathed 
But  for  my  bliss — when  being's  suns  were  few ; 

And  hath  the  spirit  no  high  hope  bequeathed  ? 
Or  must  it  drink  the  grave's  eternal  dew  ? 


12  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Hesper  !  the  beauty  of  thy  virgin  light 

Blossoms  along  the  blue  of  yon  sweet  sky — 

Yet  vain  my  heart  soars — from  the  deep  of  night 
No  voice  or  vision  thrills  my  ear  or  eye. 

From  Vesta's  vigil  shrine  no  light  ascends 

Beyond  this  realm  of  sin,  doubt,  grief,  and  death ; 

Reveals  no  heaven  where  meet  immortal  friends, 
Shadows  no  being  victor  over  breath  ! 

Sunlight  and  fragrance,  dewbeam  and  still  eve 
Shed  not  their  bliss  and  beauty  on  thine  urn ! 

Has  earth  no  hope  time  never  can  bereave  ? 
No  power  again  to  bid  the  pale  dust  burn? 

The  rippling  rills,  the  radiant  morns,  the  flowers, 
Bursting  in  beauty,  showers  of  iris  hues, 

Starlight  and  love — the  graces  and  the  hours — 
Each — all  must  vanish  like  the  dial  dews  ! 

Budding  to  wither — lingering  to  impart 

Life's  hopeless  pangs  when  thought  shall  sink  in  gloom- 
Can  song  or  mythos  soothe  the  shuddering  heart  ? 

Or  e'en  the  Thunderer's  eye  illume  the  tomb  ? 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  13 

Now  from  the  mountain  tent  mid  ilex  woods 
Or  gay  pavilions  in  the  elysian  vale, 
Wandered,  on  twilight  air,  through  clustering  vines, 
The  cithern's  music  and  the  lute's  soft  strain 
Echoed  the  soul  of  love-filled  melody. 
The  hills  seemed  living  with  delight,  for  there 
As  Summer's  burning  solstice  felt  the  breath* 
Of  Autumn  floating  o'er  its  fires,  retired, 
From  cities  thronged  with  death,  the  wise  and  gay, 
In  fellowship  or  loneliness,  to  seek 
Felicity  or  wisdom  from  the  woods ; 
And  there  the  dreams  of  Arcady — the  thought, 
That,  in  the  elder  days,  inspired  the  soul 
Of  Phantasie  and  breathed  through  Nature's  smiles 
Elysian  revelations,  clothing  earth 
In  mornstar  robes  of  loveliness,  became 
The  blest  companions  of  the  pure  in  heart. 

The  rose  and  purple  radiance  from  the  sky 
Fled  like  Love's  visions  or  the  arrow's  plume, 

O'er  the  dim  isles  and  sea  of  Italy, 

«. 

Mid  the  dark  foliage  mingling  like  the  hopes 

Of  earth  with  night-fears,  when  the  shadows,  cast 

From  thought,  with  high  and  pure  revealments  blend 

Of  beautiful  existence  far  beyond 

The  mockery  and  the  madness  of  this  life. 


14  THELABTWIOHT  [CAWTO    I. 

In  shadowy  grandeur  lay  the  glorious  sea, 
Whose  waters  wafted  spoils  from  orient  realms, 
And  mirrored  Nature's  beauty,  while  dread  war 
Bathed  Punic  banners  in  the  gore  of  Rome. 
The  evening  isles  of  love  and  loveliness 
Slept  in  the  soothing  solitude,  wherein 
The  awful  Intellect  of  Rome  sought  peace 
In  grey  philosophy  while  faction  poured 
Its  hydra  venom,  or  conspiracy 
Walked  the  thronged  Forum,  dooming,  at  a  glance. 
The  loftiest  to  extinction ;  here  the  bard 
Unfolded  earth's  and  heaven's  mysteries, 
Creating  the  world's  creed  and  Fiction's  brow 
Wreathing  with  the  immortal  buds  of  truth. 
Among  the  sanctities  of  groves  and  streams, 
The  worn  and  wearied  bosom  breathed  again 
Its  birthlight  bliss,  and  wisdom,  born  of  woe, 
Uttered  its  oracles  to  coming  years  ; 
And  in  the  midst  of  all  that  thrills  and  charms, 
Weds  beauty  unto  grandeur,  earth  to  heaven, 
Here  tyrant  crime  achieved,  by  nameless  deeds, 
The  world's  redemption  from  remorseless  guilt. 

Bland  airs  flew  o'er  the  faded  heavens,  and  streams, 
That  in  the  noonday  dazzled,  and  e'en  now 
Drank  the  rich  hues  of  eventide,  purled  on 


\ 
CANTO  i.]  OF   POMPEII,  15 

With  lovelier  music,  and  the  green  still  shores 
Looked  up  to  the  blue  mountains  with  the  face — 
The  cherub  face  of  sinless  infancy — 
With  hope  and  joy  perpetual  in  that  look ; 
For,  mid  all  changes,  still  the  faded  bloom 
Shall  be  renewed — the  slumbering  heart  revived. 
And  then  the  crescent  streamed  o'er  air-winged  clouds 
With  an  ethereal  lustre,  and  the  stars, 
The  dread  sabaoth  of  the  unbounded  air, 
From  the  profound  between  each  downy  fold, 
Gleamed  like  the  eyes  of  seraphs,  from  the  realms 
Of  immortality  beholding  earth.       . 

Beneath  the  dying  glories  of  the  day, 
And  the  unspeakable  beauty  of  the  night, 
Yet  in  the  haunt  of  peril — the  dim  home 
Of  dread  and  danger — looking  o'er  the  domes 
Of  destined  Pompeii — stood  two  shadowy  Forms, 
Pale,  yet  unfaltering — famished,  yet  in  soul, 
Fed  from  the  altar  of  their  risen  God. 
One — a  tried  warrior  by  his  eye  and  brow 
And  dauntless  port,  leaned  on  the  shattered  ledge 
Of  a  Vesuvian  cavern,  o'er  which  trailed 
The  matted  and  dark  vines,  and  thickly  hung 
The  cypress  and  dwarfed  cedar,  fleckering  o'er 


16  THE    LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

The  twilight  of  the  vestibule  with  gloom, 

And  shutting  from  the  inner  vault,  where  slept 

The  banned  and  hunted  Nazarenes,  all  beams 

Of  sunset,  mornlight,  and  meridian,  save 

Light  from  the  living  fount  of  Deity. 

Beside  him,  folding  in  Love's  holiness 

His  wasted  bosom,  on  his  troubled  brow, 

Pouring  the  radiance  of  her  dark  eyes,  stood 

A  Hebrew  captive,  dragged  amid  the  spoils 

And  splendors  of  Moriah,  when  the  hour 

Of  Desolation  fell  on  Zion's  towers, 

To  swell  the  victor's  wild  array  and  add 

Another  cup  of  vengeance  and  despair 

To  imperial,  merciless,  world-wasting  Rome. 

There  Mariamne  clung  to  Pansa's  breast. 

The  melancholy  loveliness  of  Love, 

That  dares  the  voiceless  desert  and  inspires 

The  forest  solitude,  around  her  hung 

Like  star-gemmed  clouds  around  an  angel's  form  ; 

On  her  pale  brow  the  very  soul  of  faith 

Rested  as  by  its  shrine  ;  and  earth's  vain  pride 

And  triumph  from  the  vaulted  refuge  fled 

Where  Hope  breathed  Love's  own  immortality. 

Like  her,  the  sun-clothed  vision,  in  whose  crown 

Gleamed  the  twelve  orbs  of  glory  as  she  stood 


CANTO   I.]  OF    POMPEII.  17 

Amid  the  floating  moon's  young  shadowy  light, 
When  the  red  sceptered  Dragon  cast  from  heaven 
The  blossomed  beams  of  the  universe,  and  watched 
His  spoil  in  breathless  rapture ;  so,  mid  grief 
And  want  and  loneliness  and  danger  stood 
The  daughter  of  the  east,  in  every  woe 
Fearless,  in  every  peril  quick  in  thought 
And  action,  whether  dread  calamity 
Waited  the  wanderings  of  her  wedded  love, 
Or  through  the  clouds  of  fear  upon  her  came. 
Thoughts,  winnowed  from  the  gross  and  grovelling  dust 
Of  earth,  and  glistering  with  the  hues  of  heaven, 
Passed  o'er  their  mingled  spirits  in  the  depth 
Of  the  hoar  Appenines ;  (>)  and  thus  the  heart 
Of  the  changed  Roman  spake,  whose  home  had  been 
The  tented  battlefield,  whose  joy,  the  spoil 
Of  nations  gasping  'neath  the  banner  folds 
Of  conquest,  ere  amid  the  flames  and  shrieks 
Of  Solyma,  he  heard  the  Voice  that  fills 
Infinity,  with  immeasurable  awe, 
And  worshipped  mid  the  scorn  of  pagan  bands. 
Relentless  as  the  edict  he  obeyed, 
His  dauntless  soul,  in  other  years,  had  roamed 
Through  carnage,  and,  in  triumph,  mocked  the  moans 
Of  fallen  mortality,  as  his  fellows  did, 

3 


18  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

The  legions  of  the  loveless ;  but  the  faith, 

Whose  founder  wept  o'er  doomed  and  ruthless  foes, 

Sunk  on  his  bosom  as  the  sunset  sinks 

Upon  the  wild  and  savage  mountain  peak, 

Clothing  its  barrenness  with  beauty ! — Thus 

His  saddened  but  serene  mind  communed  now. 

"  Oh,  the  still,  sacred,  soothing  light  that  bathes 

The  blue,  world-studded  heavens — while  the  breath 

Of  Autumn  gushes  music,  and  inspires 

The  purified  and  thrilled  spirit  with  the  power 

To  cast  aside  the  thrall  of  flesh  and  soar 

To  converse  with  the  seraphim  and  prayer 

And  sacrifice  beneath  the  throne  of  GOD  ! 

The  madness  and  the  misery,  that  rend 

The  heart  no  skill  can  renovate,  come  not 

Within  the  bosom's  temple  that  imbibes 

The  oracles  of  Truth  in  every  breeze. 

Thou  needest  not  thy  tephilim  (3)  to  lift 

Thy  thoughts  within  the  veil,  nor  seek  I  more 

The  prestiges  of  augurs  to  impart 

The  destined  future,  nor  vain  amulets 

To  guard  what  HE,  who  gave,  can  well  preserve. 

Look,  Mariamne  !  on  the  dimpled  sea, 

That  slumbers  like  the  jasper  waters  seen 

In  the  apocalypse  of  Patmos,  hang 

The  crowding  sails  of  merchant  barks  delayed, 


CANTO    I.]  OFPOMPEir.  19 

The  altars  at  their  prows  casting  pale  gleams, 
While  by  the  dagon  deities  of  earth, 
The  terrible  apotheoses,  wrought 
From  desolating  passions,  vainly  now 
The  mariners  invoke  the  gale  to  bear 
Their  treasures  to  the  imperial  mart — and  lo  ! 
The  living  leaves  stir  not  the  gemdew,  wept 
By  twilight  o'er  the  forest,  in  reply." 

Rapt  by  the  charm  and  majesty — the  bloom 
And  dreamy  verdure  of  the  world  and  skies — 
Yet  looking  far  beyond  them,  thus  replied 
The  High  Priest's  banished  child  unto  the  thought 
Of  the  baptized  and  scorned  Decurion. 
"  Methinks,  my  Pansa ! — as  we  gaze  around — 
The  shadows  of  the  hoar  and  giant  woods, 
The  sea's  unearthly  and  hushed  gleam,  the  eyes 
Of  the  unlimited  and  soul-peopled  heaven, 
Thus  calm  and  awful,  and  the  silence,  throned 
Amid  the  universe,  sink  on  my  soul 
With  an  unwonted  dread,  and  throng  my  brain 
Like  breathless  ministers  of  doom.     Among 
The  woven  cedar-boughs  and  oak  canopies, 
The  pale  green  moss,  thick  shrubs  and  mazy  vines 
Of  these  dark  rocks,  a  spirit  seems  to  fill 


20  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   I. 

The  air  with  revelations  none  can  hear, 

Save  they  who,  fearing  GOD,  fear  not  vain  man. 

Like  the  mysterious  and  unvoiced  NAME, 

Upon  the  white  gem  written,  which  none  beheld 

But  the  anointed,  fearful  characters 

Seem  to  my  startled  vision  forming  now 

Among  yon  dense  and  thought-winged  thunder-clouds. 

Whose  dusky  peaks  ascend  above  the  hills  ; 

And,  see  !  with  wThat  a  brow  of  majesty 

Vesuvius,  through  the  bland  transparent  air, 

And  vivid  moonlight,  o'er  our  vigil  bends  ! 

Dwells  there  not  terror  in  earth's  breathlessness  ? 

And  peril  in  the  slumber  of  the  mount  ?" 

Sadly  the  Roman  turned  his  gaze  below 
Upon  the  fated  city,  gleaming  now 
With  countless  lights  o'er  pageantries  and  feasts, 
That  flared  in  mockery  of  the  hallowed  heaven, 
Then  answered  mournfully  his  dreading  bride. 
"  The  happy  deem  not  so — discern  not  ought 
Beyond  their  splendor,  fame  and  luxury  ; 
For,  knowing  not  the  evil,  which,  as  clouds 
Impart  a  lovelier  glory  to  the  skies, 
(Else  dim  with  sultriness)  invests  all  good 
With  loftier  attributes ;  they  cannot  fear 


CANTO   I.]  OP    POMPEII.  21 

The  forfeiture  of  wealth,  or  any  change 

To  adverse  fortune ;  mark  the  gorgeous  pomp, 

The  maskings,  orgies,  agonalia  now 

In  mirth  and  madness  echoing  o'er  our  watch 

From  Pompeii's  lava  streets ;  her  sculptured  domes 

Flash  back  the  torchlights  of  the  riot  throng, 

And  countless  chariots,  rivalling  their  God 

Of  Morn,  are  hurled  along  the  trembling  side 

Of  this  most  awful  mount,  as  if  the  fire 

Had  never  wreathed  to  heaven  and  poured  the  heart 

Of  earth  in  blood-red  torrents  !  By  yon  gate, 

Towers  the  proud  temple  of  the  idol  first 

Made  and  adored  by  earth's  first  Rebel — him 

Called  Nimrod,  and  exalted  to  a  Gpd 

By  the  debased  and  impious  sons  of  Ham. — 

There  Parian  columns  and  Mosaic  floors 

And  golden  shrines  and  lavers,  and  proud  forms 

Wrought  by  Praxiteles  with  godlike  skill, 

And  pictures  glowing  with  unshadowed  charms 

To  tempt,  or  mythologic  pomp  to  awe 

The  enthusiast  and  the  sceptic,  can  attest 

Idolatry's  magnificence.     Within, 

The  secret  stair — the  victim,  whose  wild  shrieks 

Are  oracles — the  flamen  at  his  wine 

Or  darker  deeds  of  sacrilege,  while  throngs 


22  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Of  blind  adorers,  manacled  without 

By  fear's  inflicted  madness,  bend  in  awe 

And  pile  first  fruits  and  gold  around  her  shrine — 

These  are  the  illusions  and  the  destinies 

Of  Isis  and  her  earthborn  vassals,  love  ! 

Think  they  of  aspects  men  believe  they  rule  ? 

Think  they  of  perils  in  their  revelry  ? 

Know  they  the  GOD  whose  least  respected  works 

They  mock,  as  deities,  by  all  excess 

Loathsome  and  nameless  to  the  human  ear  ?" 

"  The  destined  hour  of  justice  and  despair, 
When  they  shall  gather  wisdom,  flings  its  shade 
Upon  the  dial  of  the  conqueror's  doom." 
Thought  hurried  fast  through  Mariamne's  soul. 
"  Said  not  the  Christ  from  the  bright  Olive  Mount^ 
Looking  in  sorrow  on  the  temple  clothed 
With  peerless  glory,  that  the  Holy  Place 
Should  be  defiled — the  city  trampled — all 
Its  princely  dwellers  captive,  slain,  or  strewn 
Like  sear  leaves  o'er  the  unreceiving  world, 
Or  scorned  for  uttering  creeds  the  torture  taught  T 
And  not  one  stone  upon  another  left 
To  mark  where  once  the  sanctuary  stood  ? 
Alas !  she  sleeps  in  desolation's  arms, 


CANTO    I.]  OF    POMPEII,  23 

The  city  of  my  childhood,  and  not  one 

Of  all  the  pleasant  haunts,  the  palmgrove  plain 

Of  Sharon  and  Siloam's  holy  fount, 

And  Lebanon's  pavilioned  wood — which  thought, 

At  morn  or  even  twilight,  sanctified, 

Looks  from  the  ruins  of  my  home !  but  thou, 

My  Pansa !  art  my  home  and  temple  now, 

And  the  ATONER,  whom  my  people  slew, 

The  GOD  of  this  wrecked  heart — wrecked  when  it  felt 

Its  father  slain,  its  race  to  bondage  sold 

Beneath  the  patriarch's  Terebinth !  alas  ! 

That  bigot  faction — pride  unquenched  by  woe — 

And  thanklessness  and  treachery  and  wrath, 

Perpetuated  by  all  punishment, 

And,  more  than  either,  the  one  awful  crime 

That  ne'er  shall  be  forgiven,  till  the  faith — 

They  mocked  and  shall  mock,  ages  hence,  the  same 

Without  a  country,  law,  chief,  priest  and  home 

They  were,  in  glory,  with  them  all — shall  fill 

Their  dark  and  desolated  minds  with  light — 

That  these  led  on  the  Roman  to  the  spoil 

And  allied  with  his  bands  to  our  despair ! 

— But  I  do  grieve  thee,  love  !  by  selfish  plaint, 

And  shut  my  soul  to  knowledge  of  the  rites 

And  ministrations  of  thv  monarch  race. 


24  TIIU     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Power  and  impunity  with  them,  as  all, 

Forestall,  I  dread,  their  death-doom  ;  yet  again 

As  we  behold  Campania's  loveliest  realm 

Unfolded  far  beneath  us,  let  me  learn 

The  polity  and  faith  of  Italy. 

Yon  vast  pile,  in  the  centre,  looking  o'er 

The  Appian  with  a  mild  magnificence" —  ? 

"/Twas  once,  ere  Freedom  perished,  and  the  car 
Of  conquest  bore  the  tyrant  to  his  throne, 
The  thronged  and  venerated  home  of  Right, 
Liberty's  temple,  where  the  tribune's  voice 
Forbade  the  consul's  edict,  and  none  dared, 
Without  their  will,  to  decimate  for  war, 
Or  spoil,  in  peace,  the  conscious  citizen. 
Now,  beautified  by  Parian  colonnades, 
And  jetting  fountains  and  immortal  busts 
Of  Rome's  immortal  mind,  when  power,  conferred 
In  peril,  was  resigned  in  safety's  arms, 
Mid  the  Mosaic  corridors  and  halls, 
And  priceless  trophies  of  the  matchless  thought 
Of  Zeuxis  and  Apelles,  and  the  forms 
Of  Phidias,  warrior  statues,  giant  steeds, 
And  consuls  stern  in  look,  austere  in  life, 
Dispensing  bondage  from  the  Capitol, 


CANTO    I.]  OF    POMPEII,  25 

Or  tributary  diadems  to  earth — 
Now  o'er  this  pomp  of  intellect  and  might 
The  serpent  spirit  of  a  helot  race, 
Licking  the  dust  of  purple  tyranny, 
And  crushing  in  its  poison  folds  all  thought 
That  dares  be  fetterless,  and  dreads  but  guilt- 
Leaving  the  slime  of  ruin,  with  the  hiss 
Of  shame  and  desolation,  ever  glides. 
Mark  the  long  pillared  ranges  to  the  east — 
(A  sceptered  figure  overtops  the  dome, 
Her  brazen  scales  are  superfluities — ) 
In  the  Ausonian  days  ere  heaven  revoked 
Its  holiest  gift  to  man ;  ere  granite  gods, 
Sphynxes,  cabiri,  (3)  apes  and  crocodiles 
Became  corrupted  nature's  deities, 
There  reigned  Astraea,  bright  Aurora's  child, 
The  Titan's  seraph — gentle  e'en  to  crime, 
Radiant  in  beauty  to  the  Good  ;  the  clouds 
Of  passion  never  darkened  her  sweet  brow, 
Revenge  and  hate  and  venal  compact  ne'er 
Confronted  her  calm  look  of  sanctity. 
Then  the  Basilicas  were  temples  meet 
For  prayer  and  hymn  to  the  Divinity, 
And  majesty  and  wisdom,  peace  and  love 
Dwelt  with  a  sad  yet  just  humanity, 

4 


26  THELASTNIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Alas,  for  the  brief  vision  !  and  alas 

For  the  world's  madness  !  giant  evil  rushed 

Through  wrecked  hearts  and  crushed  spirits  and  o'erspread 

All  realms  with  unmasked  vice,  impurities 

Unnameable,  atrocities  beyond 

The  untaught  conception  of  the  savage,  till, 

Casting  earth's  soil  and  burden  from  her  wings, 

The  goddess  rose  to  the  elysian  throne 

She  left  to  meet  derision  and  despair. 

Then  grovelling  men,  amid  abasements,  groped 

Through  sacrilege  and  malady  and  vice, 

The  agonies  of  guilt  without  its  shame, 

Remorselessness  and  misery,  to  their  home — 

The  sepulchre  of  painted  infamies ! 

Thus  felt,  though  feigning,  pagan  Rome's  best  minds : 

And  since  the  fated  hour  when  faction  raised 

The  tyrant's  beacon  banner  and  the  blood 

Of  Caesar  stained  his  rival's  pillar,  none 

Have  stayed  the  deluge  of  unpunished  wrong. 

The  Ambracian  waters  (4)  were  not  deeper  dyed 

Than  judgment  in  yon  courts  ;  there  's  not  a  stone, 

That  bears  not  witness,  to  the  soul,  of  woe, 

Injustice,  calumny  and  death ;  wrung  tears 

Have  stained  the  Praetor's  seat  of  perfidy ; 

And  sighs  unsolaced  through  the  long  arcades 

Echoed  like  voices  of  accusing  ghosts ; 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  27 

And  hopeless  shrieks  ascended  from  the  cells 

Beneath  the  proud  tribunal,  where  the  will 

Of  one,  that  cannot  be  arraigned,  dooms  all 

To  endless  anguish  or  unwitnessed  death. 

Alas,  my  Mariamne  !  while  I  gaze 

On  those  most  dreaded  mansions,  burning  fears 

Thrill  my  awed  bosom,  lest  this  mountain  vault, 

Dismal  and  dripping — the  dark  home  of  want — 

And  guiding  to  the  abyss  of  flame  or  flood, 

Perchance — may  fail  to  shield  us  from  the  grasp 

Of  Diomede's  apparitors  !  (5)  forefend, 

O  Heaven  !  the  hour  of  our  betrayal !  once 

My  stricken  and  stunned  soul  beheld  the  death — 

Let  us  within,  my  love  !  my  heart  misgives 

Even  at  the  imagination  of  the  power, 

Ferocity  and  wantonness  of  him, 

Whose  sire — (and  ne'er  had  father  truer  son) 

Sejanus  taught,  Tiberius  trusted  in, 

Caligula  exalted ;  Nero  loved 

This  subtle,  quick  Sicilian,  and  all  since 

Upon  the  imperial  throne  have  left  in  place 

Pompeii's  Praetor — for  his  heart  feels  not ! 

Honored  by  these,  wrhat  have  not  we  to  fear  ? 

His  minion's  glance  is  ruin  unto  both ! 

My  life,  his  prey,  thy  beauty — stand  not  so, 


28  THELASfNIOHT  [CANTO    I. 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  precipice  ! 

His  seekers  are  abroad — the  assassin  games 

Of  yon  vast  amphitheatre  will  feast, 

Ere  long,  the  merciless  idolaters  ! 

Enter  the  cavern,  Mariamne  !  hark  ! 

Some  lichens  fell  from  the  steep  rocks  o'erhead-— 

A  sandal  hath  dislodged  them — yet  no  eye 

Of  mortal  may  discern  us  from  the  crag 

That  beetles  there — again !  I  hear  the  fall 

Of  guarded  steps — so,  softly,  love  !  within  !" 

Darkness  along  the  rugged  crypt — (wherein 
The  pard  had  sorted  with  the  serpent,  ere 
The  Roman  Convert  made  his  home  there,  sought 
By  tKe  fierce  demon  of  the  idol  faith)— 
Floated  in  wreaths,  and  round  the  jutting  rocks, 
Whence  trickled  the  hill  fountains,  drop  by  drop, 
Mocking  the  pulses  of  each  lingering  hour, 
Hung  in  its  home  of  centuries ;  but  now 
Gloom  e'en  more  terrible  from  thunder  clouds 
Rushed  on  the  tempest's  wings  o'er  every  star 
Of  bright  blue  ether  and  the  laughing  earth, 
(Breathed  o'er  by  Zephyr  from  his  vesper  throne, 
Late,  when  the  oreads  danced  upon  the  mount,) 
And  winds  in  moaning  gusts,  like  spirits  doomed, 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPElt.  29 

Swept  through  the  cavern ;  and  the  giant  trees 

Through  their  vast  canopies  their  voices  cast 

Upon  the  whirlwind ;  and  the  Appenines 

Loomed  through  the  ghastly  midnight,  shadowing  forma 

Like  earth-gods  in  the  revel  of  their  wrath, 

Limitless  and  robed  in  vengeance  hoarded  up 

Through  ages  of  quick  agony  ;  and,  whirled 

In  fury  o'er  the  crags,  huge  boughs  and  leaves 

And  dust,  leaving  the  gnarled  grotesque  roots  bare, 

Quivered  along  the  sky  ;  and  lightning  leapt 

O'er  cloven  yet  contending  woods,  from  mass 

To  mass  of  all  the  surging  sea  of  clouds, 

That  rioted  amid  the  firmament, 

Flashing  like  edicts  from  the  infinite  Mind 

Of  Godhead ;  and  from  sea,  shore,  cliff  and  vale 

A  deep  wild  groan  in  shuddering  echoes  passed 

Through  the  earth's  heart,  and  met  the  crash  and  howl 

Of  momentary  thunders  in  mid  air. 

In  silence  from  the  moss  couch  of  their  cell, 
Mid  the  deep  arches  of  the  grotto,  prayer 
Ascended  from  the  pale  lips  but  tried  hearts 
Of  earth's  unfriended  exiles — heaven's  redeemed  ; 
And  there,  as  o'er  their  voiceless  orisons 
The  wild  tornado's  music  rushed,  the  Faith 


30  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I, 

Sublime,  which  through  all  torture  and  all  dread 
The  Christian  martyr  in  heaven's  triumph  bore, 
Pervaded  every  thought  that  soared  beyond 
The  doubt  and  fear  and  anguish  of  their  fate. 
The  first  vast  masses  of  dark  vapor  poured 
Their  deluge,  and  the  torrents  from  ravines 
And  precipices  hurried,  in  wild  foam, 
To  channels  bright  with  verdure  and  dry  beds 
Of  mountain  lakes,  flinging  their  turbid  floods 
Down  the  deep  boiling  chasm  and  with  the  sea, 
Now  hurling  its  tumultuous  waves  along 
The  echoing  shores  and  up  the  promontories, 
Conflicting  for  the  masterdom.     Each  glen, , 
Tangled  with  thorns  and  shrubs,  and  each  defile, 
O'erhung  with  jagged  cliffs,  to  the  dread  hymn 
Of  the  night  storm,  shouted  their  oracles ; 
And  from  the  summit  of  Vesuvius  curled 
A  pyramid  of  dusky  vapor,  tinged 
With  a  strange,  smothered  and  unearthly  light. 
Portents  and  prophecies  more  awful  fell 
On  every  vigilant  and  awed  sense  than  e'er, 
From  Pythia  shrieking  on  the  tripod,  sent 
Terror  and  madness  to  the  undoubting  heart. 
But,  while  the  hollow  dirge  of  the  strong  blast 
Startled  the  dreaming  world,  the  unruffled  minds 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  31 

Of  the  disciples  with  the  Paraclete 

Communed,  and  gathered  from  the  cross  new  power 

O'er  famine,  danger,  loneliness  and  death. 

"  Thou  fear'st  not  now,  my  Pansa  !  though  the  Mount 
Unquenchable  beneath  us  quakes  ;  thy  dread 
Of  human  wrath — consorts  it  with  thy  trust 
In  GOD  ?  thine  eye  shrinks  not  when  all  the  heavens 
Blaze,  and  thine  ear  shuts  not  when  thunders  burst, 
Shocking  the  immensity  ;  why  fear'st  thou  man  ?" 

"  I  know  him  ;  knowledge  brings  to  all  or  hate 
Or  scorn  or  apprehension,  as  his  deeds 
Or  our  own  nature  waken :  HE,  who  died 
For  crime  not  his,  hath  taught  my  else  fierce  heart 
Humility  ;  derision  and  revenge 
Assail  me  not,  and,  therefore,  fear  invades 
My  too  acquainted  spirit  when  the  shade 
Of  Diomede  along  my  lone  thoughts  stalks. 
But  from  his  revelations  I  do  know 
The  MAKER,  and  his  loftiest  name  is  Love, 
And  that  consists  not  with  the  sceptic's  dread. 
Man,  gifted  with  a  might  above  all  law, 
With  every  passion  by  impunity 
And  rivalry  of  imperial  guilt  inflamed, 


32  THELASTNIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

(And  such  is  this  proconsul)  must  become 
A  dreaded  despot,  and  the  helpless  heart, 
That  weds  a  persecuted  faith  and  loves 
A  banished  mortal,  who  on  earth  to  him 
Is  as  elysium,  must  from  peril  quail, 
And  shudder  e'en  at  shadows  menacing." 

"  Yet  paynim  hate  but  hurls  our  thoughts  to  heaven," 
(Said  Mariamne,  e'en  in  woe  like  hers, 
Thinking  the  thoughts  which  Miriam  from  the  shores 
Of  Egypt's  sea  breathed  o'er  the  tyrant  host,) 
"  Their  fountain  first  and  final  home,  as  feigned 
Thy  poet,  of  the  Titans,  thrown  to  earth 
By  might  supernal,  yet  unconquering : 
They  from  the  bosom  of  their  mother  sprung 
With  renovated  strength  and  added  wrath 
And  hourly  towering  majesty  of  mien. 
Man  may  destroy,  but  cannot  desecrate  ; 
May  mock,  but  never  can  make  vain  our  faith ; 
And  if  our  hopes,  like  Christ's  own  kingdom,  are 
Not  of  this  world,  why  should  we  linger  on 
In  this  unworthy  fear,  and  shun  the  crown 
Laid  up  for  martyred  witnesses  of  truth  1 
Let  the  worst  come  in  the  worst  agonies ! 
We  shall  not  part,  my  love  !  but  for  an  hour ; 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  33 

Nor  shall  we  leave — the  spoil  of  heathen  scorn — 
Bright  sons  and  gentle  daughters  to  endure 
Inherited  affliction,  homeless  need, 
Perpetuated  vengeance  ;  round  our  hearts, 
In  the  dread  trial  hour  of  tortured  flesh, 
The  parent's  matchless  and  undying  love, 
With  all  its  blest  endearments,  and  the  charms 
Of  budding  childhood's  rainbow  pleasantries, 
Gushings  of  the  soul's  springtime,  falling  o'er 
Maturer  years,  like  sunbright  dews  of  heaven, 
Will  never  cling  and  chain  our  daunted  minds 
To  earth's  vain  interests.     We  shall  depart 
Like  sunbows  from  the  cataract,  renewed 
By  luminaries  that  have  no  twilight — where 
Winter  and  hoar  age,  doubt,  care,  strife  and  fear, 
The  desert  and  the  samiel,  the  realm 
Of  flowers  and  pestilence,  the  purple  pomp 
And  tattered  want  of  human  life  are  not. 
What  say  the  Greek  and  Latin  sages,  love  ? 
What  Judah's  peerless  monarch,  (6)  mid  the  wealth, 
The  radiance  and  the  perfumes  and  the  power, 
The  majesty  of  thrones  and  diadems, 
And  the  excess  of  mortal  pleasure,  said 
In  his  immortal  wisdom  (how  't  was  soiled  [. . 

By  passion,  in  his  age,  for  idol  charms, 

5 


34  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Heaven  knows  and  sorrows  o'er  humanity,) 
Ambition,  pride,  pomp,  pleasure — all 
Are  but  the  vanities  that  tempt  man  on 
To  shame,  satiety  and  death — or  worse, 
Reckless  dishonor  and  shunned  solitude, 
Living  with  dire  remembrances  of  joy." 

"  The  GOD,  my  Mariamne  !  that  for  guilt, 
Incurred  in  other  states  or  other  worlds, 
Ere  the  great  cycles  brought  our  being  here, 
(As  some  have  deemed,  if  erring  or  inspired 
I  know  not)  clothed  our  spirits  in  this  robe 
Of  frail  flesh,  subject  to  necessities 
From  birth  to  burial,  ne'er  debased  the  mind 
Unto  the  body's  weakness,  yet  left  not 
Thought,  at  all  seasons,  master  of  our  clay. 
Wander  not  oft  the  wisest  1  sink  not  oft 
The  strong  ?  and  blench  the  fearless  ?  and  delay 
To  reason  with  blasphemers  the  most  skilled  ? 
And  tamper  with  temptation,  the  most  pure  ? 
In  the  imparted  strength  of  heaven  I  trust, 
When  the  last  trial  of  my  faith  shall  come, 
That  the  disciple  will  not  prove  apostate. 
But  having  thee,  my  bride !  e'en  from  the  mouth 
Of  this  wild  Cacus  vault,  that  looks  beneath 


CANTO    I.]  OF    POMPEII.  35 

Into  the  chaos  of  the  mountain  gorge, 

The  air,  the  forest,  the  blue  glimmering  waves, 

The  meadows  with  their  melodies,  the  cliffs 

Curtained  by  countless  waving  vines,  or  dark 

With  desolate  magnificence,  o'erwhelm 

My  soul  with  grandeur,  love  and  beauty,  till, 

Uttering  to  thee  the  bliss  which  nature  breathes, 

And  thrilled  by  her  seraphic  eloquence, 

I  mingle  with  the  tenderness  and  bloom, 

The  music,  majesty,  and  loveliness 

Of  her  unfolded  scenes,  and  shrink  to  meet 

The  power  that  rends  away  these  charms — this  love 

So  sternly  proved  through  each  uncertain  hour 

Since  from  the  sanctuary  wreathed  with  flame 

I  snatched  thee,  as  the  JUDGE  of  that  wild  night 

Did  from  the  dark  faith  of  the  Pharisee. 

Life  pure  amid  corruption,  will  to  bear 

/ 

Protracted  evil,  gratitude  for  all 

The  gifts  of  GOD,  and  prayer  and  praise  in  grief, 

May  prove  a  sacrifice  to  heaven  not  less 

Than  all  the  tortures  of  the  martyrdom. 

The  tempest  passes,  and  the  night  wears  on  ; 

The  dome  of  heaven  is  filled  with  prophecies  ! 

With  voices  low,  but  heard  where  breathless  thoughts 

Are  oft  the  most  accepted  music,  let  • 

Our  evening  hymn  ascend,  and  then  to  rest." 


THE    LAST    NIGHT  [cANTO    I. 


THE  MIDNIGHT  PRAYER. 

From  the  wild  cavern's  still  profound, 

From  cliffs  that  bend  o'er  viewless  flame, 
Our  spirits  soar  beyond  the  bound 

Of  being  to  THY  hallowed  name. 
In  gloom  arid  peril,  GOD  !  thou  art 

Our  hope  amid  the  lion's  lair, 
And  from  the  desolated  heart, 

Redeemer !  hear  our  midnight  prayer  ! 

The  lustres  of  our  lives  are  few, 

On  darkened  earth,  our  bliss  still  less, 
Yet  daybeam  fragrance,  evelight  dew 

Hear  our  heart-hymns  in  lone  distress : 
By  no  green  banks,  as  prayed  our  sires, 

Our  thoughts  win  heaven  to  Time's  despair, 
But  we  are  heard  by  seraph  choirs — 

Hear  thou,  O  Christ !  our  midnight  prayer ! 

No  magian  charms  or  mystic  dreams, 

Or  Delian  voices,  uttering  doubt, 
By  fountains  dim  and  shadowy  streams, 

The  fear,  the  awe  of  doom  breathe  out ; 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  37 

By  shrines,  red  bolts  have  sanctified, 

While  dragons  haunted  meteor  air, 
We  worship  not  as  shadows  glide — 

Redeemer  !  hear  our  midnight  prayer ! 

The  breathing  earth,  the  gleaming  heaven, 

The  song  of  sea,  mount,  vale,  and  stream, 
While  dimness  waves  o'er  holy  even, 

Blend  our  glad  souls  with  beauty's  beam ; 
But  darkness,  danger,  torrents  raise 

Our  hope  to  THEE,  Death-victor !  where 
In  virgin  light  fly  tearless  days — 

Redeemer  !  hear  our  midnight  prayer  ! 

The  bard  bereaved  from  Orcus'  gloom, 

Through  Hades,  led  his  love  to  light, 
And  thine  adorers  from  thy  tomb 

Drink  glory  in  their-  being's  night ; 
More  blest  to  need,  as  thou  didst,  Lord ! 

Than  be  the  Phrygian  monarch's  heir, 
Wanting  the  rapture  of  thy  word — 

Redeemer  !  hear  our  midnight  prayer  ! 

Judea's  incense-hills  are  dim 

And  silent,  where  the  song  went  up ; 
Hushed  holy  harp  and  temple  hymn — 

The  slayer  drinks  the  spoiler's  cup ! 


38  THE     I.  AST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Earth  o'er  the  sophist's  vision  sighs, 

O'er  deeds,  king,  priest,  and  people  dare, 

And  wilt  thou  not  from  pitying  skies, 
Redeemer !  hear  our  midnight  prayer  ! 

Loosed  from  dark  homage  unto  Fear, 

Imaged  in  lar  and  teraphim, 
And  Delphian  voice  and  Ebal  seer, 

THY  bright  revealments  round  us  swirn, 
Pouring  upon  the  path  we  tread, 

Though  perill'd,  lone,  and  rough  and  bare, 
Light  that  inspires  the  martyred  dead  ! 

Redeemer  !  hear  our  midnight  prayer  ! 

In  sleep  and  vigil,  guard  and  guide, 

In  secret  quest  of  earthly  food, 
From  outward  foes  and  inward  pride, 

And  the  fiend's  wiles  in  solitude  ! 
O'er  idol  rites  THY  radiance  pour, 

Till,  like  the  myriad  worlds  of  air, 
The  Universe,  as  one,  adore  ! 

Redeemer  !  hear  our  midnight  prayer ! 

"  What  terrible  and  ghastly  blaze  flares  through 
The  cavern,  filling  its  abyss  with  flame  ?" 
Said  Pansa,  startling  from  the  grotto's  gloom, 
As  the  last  gentle  breathings  of  the  song 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  39 

Whispered  along  the  arches,  and  with  step 

Like  hunted  antelope  he  sprung  to  the  edge 

Of  his  dark  home  of  banishment.     "  Behold  ! 

The  surges  of  the  tempest  fluctuate 

In  fierce  tumultuous  masses  'neath  yon  orb 

Of  livid  fire  that  from  the  north  careers 

O'er  the  astonished  and  convulsed  firmament ! 

Nor  terror  nor  surprise  is  in  thy  look, 

For  well  thou  know'st  that  awful  herald,  seen 

Through  uncreated  shadows  of  events 

By  HIM  who  mourned  o'er  ruin  while  the  pomp 

Of  thy  Jerusalem  before  HIM  glowed. 

The  comet !  meteor  of  despair  to  man  ! 

Like  a  condemned,  demolished  world  of  flame, 

With  a  vast  atmosphere  of  torrent  fire, 

It  traverses  immensity  with  speed 

Confounding  thought,  hurled  on  by  viewless  power 

Omnipotent  and  unimagined,  robed 

In  dreadful  beauty — heaven's  volcano — home, 

Perchance,  of  those  gigantic  spirits  cast 

From  holiness  to  hopelessness  for  pride. 

Lo !  how  it  sweeps  o'er  the  sky's  ocean !  wreaths 

Of  purple  light  along  its  borders  mount 

What  seem  innumerable  colonnades 


40  THE    LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Wrought  by  the  seraphim,  most  meet  to  bear 

A  temple  huge  as  Atlas ;  and  the  hues 

Deeper  and  lovelier  than  prismatic  lights, 

Curl  o'er  the  quivering  arch  as  if  to  roof 

The  vast  mysterious  fabric  of  the  sea 

Of  clouds  that  throng  eternity,  to  which 

Egypt's  most  mighty  pyramid  were  not 

More  than  a  tinted  shell  to  Caucasus. 

Are  those,  that  swirl  like  wrecks  amid  the  surf, 

Vast  mountains  wrenched  from  their  abysses,  thrown 

From  one  fire  billow's  bosom  and  engulphed 

To  be  again  hurled  on  another's  crest  ? 

Lo !  through  the  sky,  air-rocks,  hissing  and  red, 

From  the  volcanic  worlds  of  heaven  descend ! 

What  terrors  of  infinity  they  speak  ! 

What  revelations  of  undying  power ! 

What  be  yon  dark  and  spectral  images 

That  through  the  bickering  fiery  waves  move  slow 

Yet  haughtily  ?  oh,  what  a  furnace  glare 

Rolled  o'er  the  shadows  then,  and  left  their  forms 

Radiant  with  ruin  !  and  above,  methinks, 

Broad  wings  of  diamond  brilliance  wave  and  flash. 

Gift  me  thy  wisdom,  Love !  what  said  thy  sires 

Of  such  revealments  of  divinity  ?" 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  41 

"  Seldom  they  came  and  brandished  o'er  the  world 
Their  flickering  and  serpent  tongues  of  flame  : 
Seldom — for  generations,  centuries  passed, 
And  men  saw  not  the  burning  heavens  o'erwrit 
In  gory  characters  of  forewarned  fate. 
Yet  deemed  our  sages,  least  of  dust,  that  all 
The  meteors  warring  with  the  myriad  worlds, 
That  circle  through  the  abyss  of  air,  had  been, 
"  Ere  man,  time,  death,  or  sin  was,  stars  of  bloom, 
Casting  their  beauty  and  their  fragrance  on 
The  zephyr,  hymning  on  their  flight  through  space 
The  MAKER,  and  awaiting  life  to  fill 
Their  groves  and  valleys  with  the  prayer  and  song. 
Yon  shattered  mass  of  boiling  minerals 
Thus  in  its  whirlwind  madness  driven  on 
O'er  shocked  and  startled  ether,  star-skilled  eyes 
Of  the  Captivity's  prophetic  eld, — 
(When  from  the  Temple  in  his  triumph  all 
Jehovah's  holy  shrines  to  wanton  Jove 
Were  borne  by  the  proud  Flavian  victor)  saw 
Beneath  the  horizon,  ere,  in  arcs  and  wreaths 
And  pillars  canopied  by  thunder  folds, 
The  spiral  torrents  of  volcanic  fire 
Precipitated  through  the  sphere  of  earth. 
Much  in  dread  visions  when  between  the  wings 

6 


42  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Of  cherubim  the  Glory  rested — much 

In  banishment  and  desert  solitude — 

And  more  in  ruin  to  the  soul  of  seers 

Was  given  to  know ;  more  than  all  human  thought 

By  all  its  systems  can  impart  to  man. 

Yet  with  least  erring  eye  the  Apostle  saw, 

What  time  he  felt  the  martyr's  hovering  crown. 

The  cohorts  of  the  conqueror,  when  we  trod — 

(A  banished  nation,  from  our  birth-soil  rent, 

Helpless  and  homeless,  hurled  upon  the  spear), — 

The  path  of  bondage,  paused  beneath  the  hill 

Of  sycamores,  when  the  meridian  sun 

Flung  his  fierce  arrowy  splendors  ;  and  around 

The  cool  o'ershadowed  fountains,  scowling  on 

The  scorched  and  agonizing  captives,  lay 

The  imperial  legions,  cas'ang  bitter  scorn 

And  ribald  merriment  on  each  who  passed 

Among  their  stern  battalions  to  assuage 

His  deadly  thirst : — scarce  deigned  plebeian  hate 

This  solitary  solace  ;---and  they  held 

Each  pilgrim  by  the  beard  to  bid  him  |DOW 

In  worship  to  the  dread  LABARUM,  (7)  ere, 

In  terms  of  mockery,  they  questioned  him 

Of  the  sacked  temple's  holy  spoils — what  gold 

The  chalices,  cups,  lavers,  shrines  would  bring 


CANTO    I.]  OP     POMPEII.  43 

To  the  vast  coffers  of  the  Palatine. 

With  lips  unmoistened,  weary,  sick  in  soul, 

1  turned  aside  into  a  dreary  rift 

Of  rock  o'erbowered  with  briar  and  aconite, 

To  pray  and  perish,  for  I  had  on  earth 

No  friend !  my  father,  on  that  morn,  had  laid 

His  weary  head  upon  my  breaking  heart 

And  died.     They  bound  him  to  a  blighted  tree 

Upon  a  desert  crag,  and,  to  my  shrieks 

Shouting,  "  The  traitor  may  forget  the  path 

The  Avenger  treads  !  let  him  look  on  to  Rome  !" 

The  savage  spoilers  dragged  me  from  his  corse. 

Thus  to  the  earth  I  cast  me,  wailing  low, 

When  a  hand  lifted  me,  and  I  beheld 

A  form,  a  face,  so  towering,  worn  and  full 

Of  blended  intellect  and  sanctity, 

Of  majesty  and  mildness,  that,  methought, 

'Twas  the  Love-Angel !  and  his  look  o'erspread 

My  soul  with  joy  inscrutable,*  he  held 

The  very  spirit  so ;  and  then  his  voice 

Passed  through  the  mind's  depths  like  a  cherub  hymn. 

"  Daughter  !"  he  said,  "  one  doom  is  sealed  in  blood  ! 

The  Holy  City,  stained  by  guilt,  defiled 

By  treason,  sacrilege  and  rapine,  sleeps 

In  dust — and  who  but  Gon  shall  bid  her  wake  ? 


44  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Yet  judgment  tarries  not,  because  the  arm 

Of  Rome's  proud  Desolator  worked  the  will 

Of  heaven,  fulfilling  his  own  ruthless  lust. 

Thou  shalt  behold  the  destiny  of  them 

Who  from  the  furnace  of  ambition  cast 

Their  brands  of  ruin  o'er  the  world — for  me — 

The  numbered  hours  rush  on.     My  daughter !  hear ! 

Thou  art  the  child's  child  of  one  great  in  all 

That  magnifies  the  mind  and  fills  the  heart 

With  earth's  sublimest  influences — all 

That  clothes  our  flesh  with  spotless  robes,  and  claims 

Man's  loftiest  veneration,  and  heaven's  love. 

Gamaliel,  thy  wise  ancestor" —     My  soul 

Glowed  at  the  name,  and,  gazing  on  that  face 

Which  never  blanched  with  fear  though  tyrants  frowned, 

Nor  in  success  exulted,  proud  of  gifts, 

Quickly  1  said,  "  Who  should  have  talked  with  him, 

Master  in  Israel,  and  yet  survive 

When  all,  save  this  wrecked  spirit,  dream  not  now  ?" 

"  'Tis  Saul  of  Tarsus  !"  said  he,  with  his  eyes 
Downcast  in  pale  contrition :  "  he  who  first 
Bore  faggot,  brand  and  crucifix,  and  watched 
O'er  the  red  garments  of  the  martyred  saint ; 
And,  when  the  Temple's  vail  was  rent,  and  heaven 


CANTO   I.]  OF     POMPEII.  45 

Shuddered  as  the  pale  King  of  Shadows  waved 

His  sceptre  o'er  the  Son  of  GOD, — was  held 

Aloft,  amidst  the  people,  to  behold 

HIM  by  our  sires  blasphemed  and  slain. — If  toil, 

Baffled  temptation,  patient  suffering, 

Perils  by  land  and  wave,  and  every  ill 

Mortality  hath  borne — added  to  zeal 

And  many  years  of  vigil  thought,  may  hope 

For  pardon  of  my  crime,  I  have  not  lacked. 

But,  daughter  !  as  I  rested  on  my  path, 

Girdled  by  foes  exulting,  I  beheld 

Thee  clinging  to  thy  parted  sire,  and  sought 

In  secret  to  unfold,  now  in  thy  grief, 

The  sole  Redemption  our  lost  fathers  spurned."  " 

She  paused  as  on  its  wandering  orbit  now 

Rushed  madlier  the  lost  star,  and,  gazing,  cried ; 

"  — But  mark  red  Ruin's  summoner !  beneath 

The  quivering  zenith  and  the  zodiac  dimmed 

By  his  storm  glories,  how  the  herald  scorns 

The  dominations  of  the  dust,  and  dares 

The  loftiest  hierarchies  of  the  heaven ! 

Ghastly  with  lava  light,  the  molten  clouds 

In  cloven  masses  swirl  before  his  path, 

And  with  the  crash  and  uproar  of  the  war 

Of  all  the  antagonizing  elements, 

The  demon  comet  cleaves  the  shuddering  air !" 


46  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

"  And  now  the  fiend-king  of  the  meteor  flings 
His  glance  on  the  voluptuous  wantonness 
Of  Baiae  and  Pausylipo,  upon 
The  fairest  bosom  of  earth's  beauty  laid 
To  stain,  defile  and  desecrate !  beyond, 
The  waters  of  Parthenope,  along 
The  curved  and  blossomed  shores,  from  the  dark  brow 
Of  the  Misenum  to  Surrentum  rocks 
And  Capreae's  isle  of  carnage,  curl  and  moan, 
Darkened  with  gory  hues ;  and  on  the  expanse 
So  beautiful  in  crystal  claritude 
On  yester  morn,  the  trailing  glare  hangs  now 
With  tempest  gloom  contending,  yet  unmixed. 
The  promontories  and  proud  Appenines 
Seem  to  uplift  their  precipices  o'er 
The  wild  air  and  affrighted  sea  in  dread ; 
And  the  deep  forests,  quaking  yet  beneath 
The  Alpine  torrent  blast,  through  all  their  clouds 
Of  leaves,  drink  the  dark  crimson  streams  that  pour 
In  lurid  cataracts  of  flame' from  heaven: 
And  every  breathing  thing — man,  beast,  tree,  flower — 
Pants  in  the  siroc  that  from  Lybian  sands 
Hastens  to  mingle  with  the  withering  breath 
Of  yon  gigantic  world  of  Death ! — my  frame 
Is  numbed  by  torpor,  yet  the  terror  holds 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  47 

My  spirit  captive  to  the  majesty 

Of  the  unearthly  Desolator ! — Love ! 

Thou  with  the  great  Apostle  didst  commune — 

O  GQD  !  1  saw  him  die  ! — the  prophet  said  ?" 

"  "  Fulfilled,  by  Christian  faith,  the  Law,  whose  voice 
Was  judgment  to  our  fathers,  by  the  blood 
Of  the  One  Victim  unto  all  becomes 
The  very  soul  of  Love !"     Thus  he  began, 
And  with  an  angel  eloquence,  that  thrilled 
My  humbled  heart,  interpreted  the  law, 
That  spake  in  thunders  from  the  Desert  Mount, — 
He,  the  Awakener  of  nations,  whose  high  gifts, 
E'en  in  the  grandest  spheres  of  fame,  had  won 
The  palm  and  laurel  crown,  but  that  in  vain 
Cajoling  tempters  spread  their  blandishments 
And  the  seducings  of  apt  sophistries 
Tangled  their  meshes  round  him.     Affluence, 
Dominion  o'er  the  treasures  and  the  thoughts 
Of  traitor  worshippers,  the  feigned  awe  breathed 
By  vassal  sycophants  through  tainted  courts, 
Thronged  temples,  porticoes,  and  schools  of  sects, 
He  cast  aside  as  winds  do  dust  to  dust. 
He  felt  his  intellect's  supremacy, 
And  shrunk  from  moulded  clay  that  lipped  his  name 


48  THELASTNIGHT  [CANTO   1. 

In  interested  ecstacies — he  knew 

Himself  and  sought  not  other  knowledge  here. 

In  place  of  men's  dissembled  treacheries, 

He,  clothed  with  immortality's  own  light, 

Pictured  the  Passion,  spread  the  Eucharist, 

Bade  peril  and  the  equinox  obey, 

Soothed  the  quick  pangs  of  lonely  malady, 

Warded  the  fold  of  faith  assailed,  and  stood 

In  every  danger  on  the  vanward  tower 

To  watch,  guard,  counsel,  lead,  bear  scorn,  and  die ! 

Brief  was  our  converse,  for  the  Flavian  trump, 

In  triumph  echoes,  startled  the  great  host. 

But,  from  that  hour,  through  agony  and  shame, 

I  have  not  trembled  to  confess  the  WORD, 

Whose  smile  is,  e'en  in  the  worst  evil,  heaven. 

"  Farewell !  my  captive  child !"  he  said,  "  when  power 

Purples  the  rills  with  Christian  sacrifice, 

And  wanton  crime  mocks  thy  unpitied  moans, 

Forget  not  Calvary  and  Gethsemane ! 

Forget  not  that  my  eye  beholds  e'en  now, 

Down  the  dark  lapses  of  Time  unconceived, 

A  terrible  atonement  of  the  doom 

Knelled  o'er  the  domes  of  Salem ;  wildly  o'er 

Infinitude  the  vision  rushes — earth 

With  shrieks  of  wrath  and  quick  convulsions  hails 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  49 

The  herald  of  despair — it  whirls  and  leaps, 

Like  living  madness  now,  and  tosses  o'er 

Unterminating  and  unsounded  air 

Perpetual  deluges  of  flame,  to  warn 

The  scoffer  and  the  rioter,  who  mark 

No  beam  beyond  their  revel  glare  !     Farewell ! 

Desolate  daughter  of  a  slaughtered  sire ! 

Forget  not !  and  the  Paraclete  console 

Thy  lingering  sorrows !  mine  are  almost  done !" 

The  fountain  of  my  heart  o'erflowed ;  I  looked, 

Yet  never  more  beheld  the  godlike  brow 

Of  Christendom's  apostle ;  through  the  shades 

Of  the  descending  cavern  slowly  waved 

His  mantle,  the  white  turban  seemed  to  hang 

A  moment  in  the  gloom ;  his  sandalled  feet 

Sent  back  a  few  low  sounds — and  he  had  passed 

Unto  his  mission  and  his  martyrdom  ! 

But  tell  me,  love  !  beneath  this  ghastly  light, 

The  story  of  his  doom  («) — how  passed  his  soul 

From  torture  into  triumph  when  the  flesh 

Clung  round  the  spirit  in  its  agony  ?" 

"  In  calm  magnificence — in  meekness  fit 
To  awe  earth's  congregated  dynasties, 
From  gloom  to  glory,  through  its  martyrdom, 

7 


50  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

It  passed — triumphing  mid  the  jeers  of  men !" 

Said  Pansa,  casting  on  the  o'erhung  crags 

And  piles  of  rifted  scoriae  half  green'd  o'er, 

(Beauty  embracing  ruin),  mid  the  intense  hush 

Of  o'erworn  nature,  glances  of  quick  thought, 

As  silently  he  caught  faint  smothered  sounds 

Like  breaths  held  back,  and  then,  at  intervals, 

Gasping  in  sobs,  like  night  sighs  of  the  surf. 

With  startled  ear,  strained  eye  and  quivering  brow, 

Listened  the  Christian ;  but  the  dells  lay  still 

In  their  green  blessedness,  the  hills  looked  down 

From  their  cold  solitudes  ;  above,  the  flame 

Of  the  banned  star  flared  far  and  dim — beneath, 

Lay  Pompeii,  folded  in  the  sleep  that  flings 

Oblivion  o'er  the  exhaustion  of  desire  ; 

And,  breathing  terror  from  his  burdened  heart, 

He  thus  portrayed  the  passion  of  the  Saint. 

"  No  psalteries  or  cymbals  poured  their  waves 

Of  music  round  his  death-hour ;  no  grand  hymn 

Gushed  from  the  tabret,  and  no  gentle  voice 

Of  sorrow  from  the  harp,  to  wail  his  doom. 

Alone  amid  his  slayers  and  the  foes 

Of  Him  they  crucified,  Paul  calmly  stood, 

Nor  daring  pagan  hate  nor  dreading  it, 

His  white  hair  streaming  on  the  autumnal  wind ; 

His  countenance,  trenched  o'er  by  thought  and  care 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  51 

And  toil  and  suffering,  gathered,  as  he  looked 

Upon  the  Prastor  on  his  throne  of  power, 

The  grandeur  of  his  youth,  the  matchless  light 

Of  a  triumphant  intellect  that  grasped 

An  immortality  of  bliss,  and  feared 

No  mortal  agony  when  joy  was  death. 

'  Thou  art  a  Christian  ?'  Paul  held  up  the  Cross. 

'  Thou  art  a  Hebrew?'  '  Ay,  I  was,  and  worse.' 

'  Thou  art  a  Traitor  ?'  «  Not  to  God  or  man !' 

Cried  the  Apostle,  and  his  monarch  form 

Rose  from  the  ruins  of  his  years,  and  stood, 

Like  the  unpeered  statue  of  Olympian  Jove, 

Before  the  quailing  Paynim.     '  Edicts,  hurled 

By  Agrippina's  son,  had  Rome  a  soul, 

E'en  from  blasphemed  humanity  would  call 

For  vengeance  on  the  utterer.     Where  's  the  guilt 

Of  thought?  the  crime  of  faith,  whose  very  soul 

Is  low-voiced  worship  and  still  charities  ? 

The  loftiest  mind  most  loves  humility ! 

The  imperial  ban  ('twas  uttered  by  the  banned) 

Leaves  deeds  untouched  but  criminates  the  thought ; 

Hales  famished,  homeless  and  (for  this  vain  world) 

Hopeless  believers  of  an  humble  faith, 

To  judgment,  not  to  trial,  and  allows 

The  apostacy,  it  arraigns  as  crime 


53  THE     LAST     NIQHT  [CANTO    I. 

Death  or  denial !  is  the  only  law 
Of  Rome,  whose  wings  are  o'er  the  world,  to  men 
So  poor,  they  have  no  pillow,  and  so  few, 
They  have  no  power ;  and  yet  the  Palatine 
Fears  they — they  may  subvert  its  giant  might ! 
Is  truth  so  terrible  to  the  'immortal  gods,' 
That  they  in  triumph  tremble  at  a  voice  ? 
Dreads  the  fierce  Thunderer  the  cicada's  song? 
Or  your  gay  god  of  Revels,  lest  the  charm 
Of  his  wreathed  thyrsus  may  depart  when  woods 
And  caverns  are  the  palaces,  and  rills 
And  berries  all  the  banquet  of  his  foes  ? 
Yet  none  of  all  thy  fabled  deities, 
Save  hirsute  fauns  and  lonely  oreads, 
Behold  our  rites,  or  need  shrink  to  behold. 
How  should  conspiracy  consort  with  want 
And  weakness  so  extreme,  they  lack  the  power 
To  lift  the  dying  head  or  bear  the  corse 
Beyond  the  grotto  where  they  weep  and  pray? 
And  who  of  all  Rome's  judges  can  arraign 
The  Christian  for  a  deed  that  could  design 
Possession  of  a  hamlet?  or  a  hut? 
We  seek  no  empire  save  untrammelled  thought ; 
We  court  no  patron  save  THE  CRUCIFIED  ; 
We  win  no  crown  save  that  of  martyrdom.' 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  53 

'  Smite,  silence  the  blasphemer !'  shrieked  the  judge, 
Robing  his  fear  in  wrath  ;  '  too  long  we  waste 
The  Empire's  time — chain  the  conspirator! 
And,  lictors!  guard  his  cross  from  slaves,  and  all 
The  baser  multitudes  that  throng  to  hear 
The  maniac  treasons  of  the  Nazarenes. 
Hoar  breeder  of  sedition,  thou  must  die !' 

'  Nature  said  that  when  I  was  born,  and  GOD, 
Ere  that,  a  thousand  ages,  when  sin  rose 
From  Hades ;  not  in  vain  have  all  the  power, 
Splendor  and  guilt  of  Rome  before  me  passed 
In  danger  yet  in  solitude,  and  now 
I  fold  unto  my  bosom  that  deep  death 
I  never  sought  nor  feared,  and  thank  the  ruth 
Of  that  derision  which  ordains  the  Cross. 
The  master  of  your  vast — of  every  realm, 
Sea,  earth  and  sky  hold,  taught  me  by  His  groan 
That  the  last  breath  was  agony,  but  He 
Hath  sent  the  Paraclete  to  o'ershadow  all 
Who  perish  by  his  passion,  and  I  go, 
Purple  idolater !  having  wandered  long 
Through  many  years  of  weariness,  to  rest, 
Where,  couldst  thou  ever  share  my  bliss,  this  hour, 
With  less  of  anguish,  would  pass  o'er  my  soul!' 


54  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CAMTO    I. 

Then  led  they  him  unto  (g)  the  Accursed  Field 

Beyond  -the  Patriot's  Precipice,  mid  bands 

Of  mailed  Praetorians,  bearing  in  the  blaze 

Of  noon  Caesar's  Labarum  (ne'er  unfurled 

But  in  the  triumph's  tempest ;)  in  the  van 

The  aruspices  in  purple  trabeae  walked,  (10) 

Their  oakleat  chaplets  waving :  then  in  throngs, 

The  Luperci,  the  maddened  priests  of  Mars, 

In  crimson  togas  and  broad  burnished  plates 

Of  brass  that  mirrored  carnage,  followed  quick. 

And  the  wild  flamens  of  Cybele,  stained 

By  the  red  vintage,  and  the  countless  crowd 

Of  magi,  augurs,  senators  and  slaves, 

Paphians  and  vestals,  through  the  marble  streets, 

From  dusky  lanes  and  sculptured  palaces, 

Temple  and  forum  and  Cimmerian  den, 

Outpoured  in  pageantry  or  squalid  want, 

Like  Scylla's  whirlpool  floods,  to  feast  on  death. 

'Twas  ever  thus  in  Rome ;  she  nursed  her  horde 

Of  bandits,  from  the  first,  on  blood,  and  war, 

Wedding  with  carnage,  wrote  her  very  creed 

In  groans,  and  wrought  her  gods  from  myriad  crimes. 

So  on  they  led  the  martyr  stooping  low 

Beneath  the  felon  cross,   his  glorious  brow, 

Oft  wet  with  dungeon  dew,  soiled  by  the  dust 


CANTO    I.]  OF    POMPEII.  55 

Of  the  armed  cohort,  yet  his  undimmed  eye 

Flashing  its  birthlight  radiance  unto  heaven, 

Drinking  revealments  of  God's  paradise. 

Oath,  menace,  jeer  and  ribald  mockeries, 

The  vulgar's  worship  of  all  greatness,  passed 

Like  the  sirocco  o'er  Campanian  flowers 

Or  snowpiles  of  the  Appenines,  gathering  bloom 

And  zephyr  coolness,  o'er  his  sainted  soul. 

His  lofty  nature  did,  a  moment,  seem 

Burning  in  scorn  upon  his  lips,  and  once, 

Clasping  the  heavy  cross  as  't  were  a  wand, 

He  lifted  his  proud  rorm  and  matchless  head, 

And  o'er  the  helmed  lictors  looked  upon 

The  mockers — and  they  shrunk  beneath  his  glance 

Like  grass  beneath  the  samiel ;  yet  no  more, 

Hushing  the  spirit  of  his  grandeur,  he 

Deigned  to  deem  earth  his  home,  or  earthly  things 

Fit  wakeners  of  his  thought.     And  so  he  came  .^ 

Unto  the  Accursed  Field,  and  one,  all  shunned, 

Loathing,  drave  down  the  massy  cross,  whereon, 

With  lingering  patience,  he  had  stretched  and  nailed, 

Through  palm  and  sole,  the  Martyr,  every  blow 

Tearing  the  impaled  nerves,  and  through  heart  and  brain 

Sending  a  sick  convulsion ;  but  the  pangs 

Passed  quickly  o'er  his  features,  though  the  limbs 


56  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Quivered,  and,  as  he  looked  to  heaven,  a  light, 

Brighter  than  universes  of  bright  suns, 

Fell  round  the  Martyr  in  his  agony ! 

'  A  Prodigy!  Jove  flashes  wrath!  the  gods 

Forbid  the  death !'  shouted  the  multitude, 

Like  foliage  fluctuating,  as  the  spells 

Of  all-believing  Fear  fell  on  their  hearts. 

4  All  Rome  shall  perish  if  the  Christian  dies !' 

4  Hence,  vassals !  fools !  home  to  your  huts !  away  1' 
Rose  the  proud  Prefect's  quick,  stern,  ruthless  voice, 
Whose  echo  was  an  oracle.     '  Ye  slaves ! 
The  beast  should  batten  on  the  slain,  I  know, 
And  ye  can  taunt  and  torture  helplessness, 
And  dread  the  very  shade  of  danger's  ghost ; 
But,  by  the  Spectre  River !  Rome's  best  spears 
Shall  search  your  dastard  dust,  if  ye  but  speak 
Ere  each  adores  his  hearth-god !  hence !  away !' 
The  Gracchi  from  the  Aventine  dragged  forth  (' ') 
For  senators  to  slaughter  well  displayed 
The  liberties  of  Rome ;  and  they,  who  held 
The  Briton  chief  barbarian,  shrunk  away, 
When  a  patrician  bade,  without  a  voice ! 
But  bondage  and  brute  violence  are  one. 
Then,  as  the  steps  of  the  vast  throng  retired 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII. 

Like  dying  waves,  the  priests  and  guards  outspread 
Their  banquet  on  the  plain  beneath  the  tents — 
(The  kalends  of  the  seventh  month  had  come) 
They  bore  to  shield  the  sun,  while  there  they  watehed 
The  fever,  famine,  thirst  and  pangs  of  death. 
Pheasants,  Falernian,  mirth,  song,  jest  and  oath 
Inspired  the  revel  'neath  the  cross,  and  all 
Care  and  command,  save  that  which  bade  them  see 
The  Martyr  die,  fled  from  their  spirits  now. 
Wanton  with  wine,  the  priest  revealed  to  scorn 
His  wiles  and  sophistries  and  oracles, 
Blessing  the  phantom  gods  that  shadows  held 
Dominion  o'er  the  conscious  fears  of  men. 
Warriors  portrayed,  in  tales  of  other  climes. 
Numidia,  Arcady  or  Syrian  realms, 
The  splendor  of  the  spoil,  the  gems  and  gold, 
The  perfumes,  luxuries  and  regal  robes, 
Fair  slaves  and  diamonds,  wafted  from  the  shores 
Of  the  Orient,  in  homage  to  the  diadem 
That  circled  nations.     Many  a  demon  deed 
And  dark  career  of  crime  then  first  to  light 
Leapt  from  the  dizzy  brain  of  guilt,  and  moved 
Applause  and  rival  histories  of  acts 
O'erpast ;  how  dusky  kings  in  palaces, 
Amid  their  pomp,  gleaming  magnificence, 

8 


58  THE     J,  AST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Did  perish  in  the  flame,  and  none  could  save 

The  victim,  though  they  bore  his  coffers  forth 

How  queens  and  virgin  princes  in  their  bowers, 

On  broidered  couches  slumbering,  while  their  robes, 

Like  zodiacs,  glittered  in  the  purple  light, 

Felt  not  the  serpent  that  trailed  o'er  their  sleep. 

But  died  in  their  pavilions,  voicelessly  ! 

Then  senators  and  knights,  with  mutual  mirth, 

Discoursed  of  laws  enacted  or  suppressed 

As  suited  Caesar,  and  quenched  liberties, 

Naming  them  treason ;  and  asserted  rights, 

They  branded  as  seditions  ;  and  revealed 

To  the  unshuddering  guards  the  mysteries 

Of  Rome's  proud  Forum,  where  the  agonies 

Of  desolated  kingdoms,  and  the  shrieks 

Of  nations  in  their  bondage,  and  the  tears 

Of  eloquent  affection  to  the  lords 

Of  power  were  music  and  unholy  mirth. 

Then   round  the  martyr  mingled  voices  rose 

Louder,  and  laughter  to  impiety 

Replied,  and  men,  the  gods,  truth,  chastity. 

Love,  honor,  courage  and  fidelity, 

All  were  but  mockeries  to  the  rioters. 

"  Hercle !  is  this  the  Lupercal  ?  ye  howl 

Like  Conscript  Fathers  when  the  spoil  is  lost ! 


CANTO    T.J  OF     POMPEII.  59 

Peace !"  said  the  Prefect — "  see  ye  not  the  lips 
Of  yon  hoar  traitor  trembling  with  quick  thought? 
Listen !  he  speaks  his  last, — his  heart  's  too  old 
To  linger  in  the  torture  of  the  tree !" 

"The  isles  shall  wait,  Jehovah!  for  thy  law,  (ia) 
And  knowledge  to  ajid  fro  shall  spread,  till  earth 
Utter  Thy  praise  like  voices  of  the  sea !" 
Thus  spake  the  victim,  in  delirium, 
Wrought  by  deep  anguish,  wandering  yet  among 
The  dear  homes  of  his  mission.     "  Dangers  wave 
Their  wings  around  us,  brethren !  and  the  waste. 
Boundless  and  shadowless,  must  still  be  trod! 
Yet  not  by  dim  lights  of  a  doubting  faith 
Are  ye  led  on  through  wrong  and  woe  and  want, 
For  the  Anointed  hath  not  left  us  here 
Without  a  Comforter,  and  hath  He  not 
Laid  up,  in  many  mansions,  crowns  of  joy, 
Where  mortal  doth  put  on  immortality? 
Grieve  not  the  Spirit !  yet  a  little  while, 
And  ye  shall  reap  the  harvest  and  rejoice ; 
And  though,  ere  then,  this  flesh  must  see  decay, 
Yet  I  shall  mingle  with  your  prayer  and  hymn, 
By  morn  and  eve — and  breathe  the  Savior's  smile 
O'er  the  glad  isles  of  Gentiles  so  beloved !" 


60  THE    LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Then  spasms  of  vivid  pain  passed  o'er  his  face, 

His  eyes  rolled  back  upon  the  brain,  and  left 

The  pale  streaked  orbs  writhing  in  gloom — the  lids 

Now  folded  to  their  lashes,  coiling  now 

In  nature's  deep  convulsion,  till  the  veins, 

O'erfraught  and  purple,  on  his  cloven  brow, 

Seemed  bursting  o'er  the  altar  of  his  soul. 

His  livid  lips,  parted  by  torture,  breathed 

Deep  undistinguished  murmurs,  then  compressed 

Like  sculptured  curves  and  lines  of  thought ;  the  limbs, 

Meantime,  grew  cold,  and  the  dark  gathering  blood 

Forsook  its  own  familiar  temple,  when 

The  shadows  of  the  sepulchre  stole  on. 

"  Dis  leaves  his  realm  to  welcome  him,"  said  one. 

"  Peace  !  thou  discourteous  knight !  jeers  skill  not  now ; 

Thy  mirth  is  motlied  with  mortality, 

And  thou  thyself  mayst  pray  for  Lethe  ere 

The  graceless  Stygian  grasps  thine  obolus. 

Put  on  thy  knighthood !  peace  !  he  speaks  again !" 

And  the  proud  Prefect  flung  his  casque  to  earth. 

In  moans,  like  autumn  gusts,  the  martyr  spake. 
Hovering  o'er  shattered  memories  like  the  sun 
O'er  broken  billows  of  the  shoreless  sea ! 
"  Let  me  behold  thy  domes,  Damascus !  meet 


CANTO    I.]  OF    POMPEII. 

It  is  the  arrows  of  Life's  penitence 

Should  pierce  the  persecutor. — Oh,  farewell! 

My  brother!  blessed  in  Pisidia  be 

Thy  walk  and  watching ! — To  the  Unknown  God ! 

Are  ye  the  worshipped  wisdom  of  all  Greece, 

When  ye  disdain  your  thrice  ten  thousand  gods, 

Adoring  Doubt  or  Demon,  knowing  not 

The  Deity  revealed? — Ye  can  attest, 

I  have  not  coveted  the  gold  of  earth, 

The  gorgeous  raiment  or  vain  pomp  of  men, 

But  ministered,  in  all,  unto  myself! 

Ay,  driven  to  and  fro  4n  Adria 

Upon  Euroclydon,  no  hope  is  left 

But  in  the  Wielder  of  the  wave  and  wind. 

Despair  not !  though  sun,  moon  and  stars  are  hid, 

Jehovah  watches  from  eternity  ! 

Contend  not,  brethren !  untaught  man  may  win 

Redemption  from  the  deep  crimes  of  his  age, 

And  be  a  law  unto  himself;  e'en  Rome 

Hath  in  her  years  of  darkest  guilt  had  such. 

Oh,  sorrow  not  like  them  who  have  no  hope! 

The  seed  shall  not  decay  though  I  am  dust! 

— Why  do  ye  scourge  me,  soldiers?  know  ye  not 

I  am  a  Roman?  I  appeal  to  Caesar! 

— Bring  me  a  winter  robe  when  thou  dost  come 


THE    LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    J. 


Again — the  night  is  cold  among  the  hills, 

And  I  am  very  weary !  so,  farewell !" 

Then  the  bare  nerves  and  sinews  sent  their  pangs 

For  the  last  time  upon  his  fainting  heart, 

And,  as  beyond  the  trembling  battlements 

Of  agonizing  flesh,  the  spirit  strove 

To  flee,  beholding  heaven,  the  bitter  strife 

O'erawed  the  infidel,  and  round  the  cross 

Stood  silent  pagan  revellers  !  Once  more 

The  apostle's  peerless  mind  gleamed  out — his  eyes. 

Living  in  the  dark  light  of  boyhood,  flung 

Their  dying  splendors  o'er  the  Imperial  Hills, 

The  mountains  and  the  waters — while  his  pulse 

Intensely  throbbed  and  paused — and  the  heart's  chill 

And  rever  rushed  to  life's  deep  fount  and  spread 

A  shuddering  faintness  and  sick  gasping  sense 

Of  falling  through  infinitude,  o'er  all 

The  vital  functions  of  his  frame.     "  My  God  !" 

'Twas  but  a  hollow  echj  from  the  tomb, 

Yet  it  said  "  Jesus  !  let  me — see — Thy  face  !" 

And  Saul  of  Tarsus  stood  before  his  God !" 

"  As  thou  shalt  stand  before  Gaetulia's  king, 
The  Barcan  lion !"  cried  the  ruthless  voice 
Of  Diomede's  outwatching  messenger. 


CANTO    I.]  OF    POMPEII.  63 

The  undeterred  achiever  of  his  will — 

Grasping  the  Christian  while  his  fellows  rushed 

Upon  his  pale  but  drsadless  Hebrew  bride. 

"  Well !"  said  the  minion,  "  traitors  serve,  sometimes, 

The  empire's  weal,  and  martyrdom,  methinks, 

Hath  a  rare  syren  music,  for  ye  stood 

Grandly  before  us  in  the  comet  light, 

Wrapt  in  your  exalted  Nazarene, 

Till  we  could  climb  the  cliffs  and  do  the  hesl 

Of  the  proconsul,  unfulfilled  too  long  ! 

Come,  Rabbi !  thou  art  skilled  in  subterfuge, 

And  hast  not  scorned  the  sword  in  better  times — 

The  games  shall  test  thy  genius — on  with  me ! 

The  Gladiator's  banquet  waits,  and  thou 

Shalt  quaff  the  massic  or  the  tears  of  Christ.  (13) 

Veles  !  thou  hast  thy  charge  !  the  Praetor's  coin 

Rewards  not  slack  obedience,  though  his  wrath 

Ne'er  palters  with  a  thought  of  treachery ! 

The  lady — Venus  !  but  she  hath  a  brow 

Like  the  coy  Delian  queen  ! — must  be  disposed, 

With  all  respect, — lead  on  !  the  daystar  wanes  !" 

"  Thraso  !  we  were  not  foes  when,  side  by  side, 
We  scaled  Antonia's  tower,  and  saw  the  walls 
Of  Zion  crushed — Why  now  I  thou  art  disguised," 


64  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    I. 

Said  Pansa,  with  the  heart's  best  eloquence, 
As  down  the  steep  crags  turned  the  lictor  band, 
Bearing  his  bride.     "  Why  from  my  heart,  by  guile 
Betrayed,  by  violence  asunder  rent, 
Tearst  thou  my  Mariamne,  mocking  thus  ?" 

"  And  dost  thou  ask,  apostate  ?  hast  thou  not 
Contemned  the  gods,  scorning  thy  father's  faith  ? 
Forsaken  the  eagle  banners,  deeming  rocks 
Better  than  camps  ?  and  sowed  sedition,  thick 
As  sand-clouds,  through  the  legions  ?  thou  hast  wed 
A  captive,  too,  whom,  though  with  all  thy  gold 
Thou  bought'st,  poor  fool  !  yet  hast  not  held,  as  bids 
The  law.  in  bondage  !  dost  thou  ask  again  ? 
Mine  office  deigns  no  farther  word,  but  more 
Thou  soon  shalt  learn  in  bitterness  !  lead  on  !" 


"  Bear  me  with  her,  where'er  ye  drag,  whate'er 
Ye  or  your  lords  in  lawlessness  inflict  ! 
No  more  my  voice  shall  crave  or  ye  deny  !" 

"  The  Praetor's  edict  suits  no  purposes 
Apostates  may  desire  ;  your  destinies 
Have  separate  mansions,  renegade  !"  Along 
Ravine  and  precipice  and  lava  bed, 


CANTO    I.]  OF     POMPEII.  65 

Vineyard,  pomegranate  grove  and  vale  of  bloom,     . 
The  Pagan  haled  his  victims,  till  the  gate 
Of  Pompeii  flew  wide,  and  Pansa  saw, 
In  speechless  agony,  a  moment  ere 
The  Mamertine  abysses  (u)  were  his  home, 
Pale  shuddering  Mariamne  through  the  gloom 
Of  statues,  pillars,  temples  and  hushed  streets, 
Where  fountains  only  witnessed  deeds  of  death. 
Borne  like  a  shadow  to  a  nameless  doom. 


OF    CANTO    1. 


THE  LAST  NIGHT  OF  POMPEII. 


CANTO    II. 


and  violater,  Time !  thou  art 
The  spirit's  master — the  heart's  mocker !  thou 
Poorest  the  deluge  of  returnless  years 
Over  the  gasping  bosom,  and  on  thought. 
That,  in  aurora  streams  of  magic  light. 
Flung  its  deep  glory  o'er  the  heavens,  dost  heap 
Clouds  without  flame  or  voice,  cold,  deep  and  dark, 
.  'Which  are  the  shroud  of  the  mind's  sepulchre  1 
Far  better  not  to  be  than  thus  to  be  ! 
Better  to  wander  like  the  gossamer, 
The  baffled  buffet  of  each  aimless  wind, 
Than  sink  like  dial  shadows,  all  but  breath 
Leaving  the  wreck  that  trembles  on  the  strand. 
And  why  to  man,  feeble  in  youth's  best  hours 
Of  intellect  and  power,  in  all  his  hopes 


OS  T  HE     LAST     N I  «  II T  [CANTO    II. 

So  false  unto  himself  and  his  compeers, 
Are  strength  and  pride  and  potency  assigned  ? 
Why  is  his  grandeur  wedded  to  despair  ? 
His  love  to  grief?  his  heart  to  hopelessness  ? 
Ills  fame  and  his  dominion  to  the  dust? 

Yet  thou,  Tyrant  of  Air !  hast  chronicles 
Of  darker  import,  and  the  world  is  filled 
With  thine  unpi tying  ministers  of  woe. 
Beneath  the  rush  of  thy  dark  pinions  nought 
Lives,  or  life  lingers,  breathing  at  its  birth 
The  death  that  soon  becomes  an  ecstacy. 
Wan  yet  not  hoary,  broken  at  the  goal 
Of  young  ambition,  myriads  feel  thy  flight 
In  torture  and  desire  in  vain  to  sleep. 
Earth's  beauty,  heaven's  magnificence,  the  charms 
Of  zephyrs,  verdure,  azure,  light,  hills,  streams, 
And  forests,  castelled  by  eternal  rocks, 
Beheld  long,  fade  upon  the  sated  soul, 
Exhaust  by  their  sublimities,  and  shed 
Their  fragrance,  music  and  romance  on  hearts 
Inured  and  soiled — too  weak  to  bear  their  bliss, 
Too  cold  to  feel  their  glories  !     And  we  roam 
The  paradise  of  all  earth's  pleasantries, 
Amid  the  care,  toil,  phrenzy,  want  and  strife 


OANTO    II.J  0  F     POMPEII.  69 

Of  the  protracted  agonies  of  breath, 
Feeding  on  raptures,  that,  fulfilled,  are  woes ! 
But  o'er  thy  ruins,  Time !  and  the  thick  clouds 
Of  the  heart's  mysteries  a  sun  shall  burst, 
As  now  Apollo's  steeds,  caparisoned 
In  mornbeam  hues,  rush  up  the  Appenines, 
Star-eyed  Eous  and  wild  Phlegon  first, 
Pouring  the  sungod's  splendors  o'er  the  domes 
Of  Pompeii  waking  from  her  last  still  sleep. 

As  from  the  violet  pavilions  stole 
The  dayspring's  beautiful  and  blessed  light, 
Like  rose-leaves  floating,  and  the  mountains  bent 
Their  awful  brows  in  worship  at  the  fount 
Of  radiance,  by  all  ages  sacred  held 
As  the  peculiar  home  of  deity, 
Mythra  or  Bel  or  Elios — the  name 
Erred,  but  the  spirit  brooded  o'er  the  heavens, 
Up  rose  the  vassals  from  their  earth-beds,  late 
On  yesternight  pressed  by  the  sinking  limbs 
And  breaking  hearts  of  bondage ;  no  perfumes 
Needed  the  stripe-gashed  body  or  shorn  head,: 
No  lavers  waited  thraldom  ;  on  they  flung 
Rude  garments  soiled  by  servitude,  and  turned 
To  grind  at  the  accursed  mill,  and  lift 


'0  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

Their  branded  brows  at  the  stern  master's  voice, 

In  silence  passing  o'er  Mosaic  floors 

To  bear  the  golden  bowl  or  myrrhine  cup, 

Falernian  or  frankincense  to  their  lords. 

For  them  no  statue  bowed  in  majesty, 

No  consul  framed  a  law,  and  none  of  all 

The  common  deeds  of  earth  had  interest, 

For  they  were  stricken  from  the  roll  of  men 

And  banished  from  humanity,  (Is)  and  Rome 

Gazed  from  the  temple  of  her  trophies  on 

The  hopeless  captives — from  her  triumph  hills, 

Where  armies  shouted  Liberty  !  upon 

Her  myriads  of  bondmen,  with  a  smile, 

That  thanked  her  thrice  ten  thousand  deities, 

The  o'ershadowing  empire  of  the  world  was  Free ! 

Waking  to  want  from  dreams  of  affluence, 

Parting  from  splendor  to  meet  toil  and  tears, 

Then  rose  pale  Indigence  in  shattered  cells, 

Dusky  and  damp  and  squalid,  yet  o'ertaxed 

By  the  imperial  rescript,  to  endure 

The  taunts  of  mimes,  the  old  indignities 

Of  freeclmen,  merciless  in  novel  power, 

The  insolence  of  taskers  and  the  shame 

Of  slack  dismissal  with  their  pittance,  when 

The  proud  patrician  deigned  to  bid  his  slave 


CANTO   II.]  OF     POMPEII.  71 

Cast  the  base  drachms  at  the  plebeian's  feet ! 

Ere  melted  the  wreathed  mists  from  isle  or  mount, 

City  or  lake,  while  Pompeii's  pinnacles 

Ascended  in  uncertain  grandeur  yet, 

The  artizan  went  forth  to  build  again 

The  fabrics  earthquakes  had  late  sported  with ; 

Doomed,  ere  the  dial  rested  shadowless, 

To  cease  from  toil  for  ever ! — and  the  sounds 

Of  early  servile  labor  multiplied 

Through  glimmering  arcades  and  noisome  courts 

Thronged  ever  by  the  peasants  pomp  creates, 

As  the  sun  gathered  up  his  streaming  rays, 

And  his  broad  disk  lanced  light  o'er  all  the  earth. 

Late,  from  their  holy  dreams  in  the  profound 
Of  their  proud  temples,  ne'er  by  foot  profane 
Invaded,  waked  the  pagan  oracles, 
The  ministers  of  mysteries  all  unrevealed, 
Save  to  the  forgers  of  the  fictions, — gazed 
Bewildered  on  the  amphora?  that  stood 
Beneath  their  sacred  stores  ('  °) — and  turned,  once  more, 
To  matin  visions  of  deluding  faith, 
Processions  and  responses,  gorgeous  robes, 
Banquets,  and  free  bequests,  when  they  alone 
Stood  o'er  the  dying,  and  dominion  bought 


72  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

By  endless  cycles  of  hypocrisies. 

All  hierarchies,  howsoe'er  unlike 

In  ritual,  are  in  earthly  hope  the  same  ; 

Pleasure,  their  idol,  ease,  their  ecstacy, 

Power,  their  ambition,  and. the  will  of  God, 

The  blasphemed  agency  of  their  own  lusts. 

The  virgin  dew  yet  on  the  verdure  hung, 
When,  one  by  one,  the  mourners  of  the  lost 
Stole  to  the  street  of  sepulchres  and  sat. 
Beside  the  ashes  of  their  ancestors, 
Watching  the  beams  that  never  more  would  greet 
The  perished,  and,  they  thought  not,  never  more 
Light  Pompeii  to  her  loved  festivities  ! 
Few,  on  this  mission  of  elysian  love, 
Left  Tyrian  couches  and  the  bliss  of  sense ; 
Yet  they  were  blessed  in  the  seraphic  gift 
Of  feeling,  which,  in  solitude,  is  heaven  ! 
Tombs  were  the  earliest  temples,  the  first  prayers 
Gushings  of  grief,  the  holiest  offerings, 
Tears  of  bereavement,  and  the  loveliest  hymns. 
Sighs  over  the  departed ;  worship,  then, 
Rose  from  the  heart,  that,  mid  these  simple  rites, 
Felt  no  delusion  or  vain  mystery : 
Urns  were  the  altars,  and  the  incense,  love. 


CANTO   II.]  OP    POMPEII.  7JJ 

The  sodden  pulse,  offered  by  humble  faith, 
Desiring  not  demanding,  far  outweighed 
Oblations  chosen  from  barbaric  spoils  ; 
And  with  a  purer  purpose,  poverty 
Knelt  by  the  wayside  image  of  the  god 
Than  gorgeous  pontiffs  by  Olympian  shrines 

When  sin  gains  sanction  and  the  heart  is  soilea 
By  unrebuked,  ay,  customary  crime, 
The  tenderest  yearnings  of  the  bosom — love, 
With  its  dependence  and  delight — its  smile, 
lake  rifted  rose-leaves,  and  its  tear,  like  dew 
Shook  from  the  pinions  of  the  seraphim, 
Breathe  unaccepted  music  ;  the  caress 
Of  childhood  hath  no  bliss — its  early  words 
And  looks  of  marvel  find  no  fellowship — 
For  the  evil  usages  of  life,  that  dwells 
But  in  the  glare  and  heat  of  midnight  pomp, 
Corrode,  anneal  and  desecrate  all  love. 
Yet  some  preserve  the  vivid  thoughts — the  charms 
Of  household  sanctities  ;  and  one  such  now 
Rose  from  affection's  spotless  couch  and  bent 
O'er  the  angel  face  of  virgin  infancy ; 
And  thus  her  gentle  and  blest  thoughts  found  words. 
"  Thou  sleep'st  in  Love's  own  heaven,  my  child !  that  brow 

10 


74  T  HE    I.AST    NIGHT  [CANTO   II. 

No  guilt  hath  darkened  and  no  sorrow  trenched : 

Those  lips,  which  from  thy  fragrant  breath  receive 

The  incense  hues  of  thy  sweet  heart,  no  gust 

Of  uttered  passion  hath  defiled ;  thy  cheek 

Glows  with  elysian  health  and  holiness : 

And  all  thy  little  frame  seems  thrilling  now 

In  the  pure  visions  of  a  soul  sky  born. 

The  Lares  be  around  thee,  oh,  my  child ! 

For  never  yearned  Cybele  over  Jove 

With  transport  deeper  than  is  mine  o'er  thee  !" 

Then  o'er  her  babe  she  spread  the  drapery, 

Kissing  the  shut  lids  and  unsullied  brow, 

Where  the  mind  dreamed,  perchance,  of  bliss  foregone, 

And  shading  with  her  byssus  robe  and  flowers 

The  sunbeams  from  the  sleeper,  with  a  step 

Soft  as  the  antelope's,  she  stole  and  knelt 

In  prayer  for  that  loved  one  at  Vesta's  shrine. 

Breathing  their  bliss  in  melodies  of  love, 
Their  pictured  wings  fanning  the  ether,  flew 
The  song  birds,  and  the  groves  were  full  of  mirth 
Too  pure  for  any  voice  but  music's,  when, 
Lifting  their  dim  eyes  to  the  blaze  of  day, 
Campania's  proud  patricians  deemed  the  hour 
So  far  removed  from  common  time  of  rest, 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  75 

Without  dishonor,  they  might  breathe  the  breeze, 

That  o'er  the  dimpled  waters  and  the  flowers, 

Since  the  first  tints  of  dawn,  had  played  like  thought 

Over  the  face  of  childhood — yet  bore  now 

The  vivid  heat  and  dense  effluvise 

Of  culminating  sun  and  marsh  exhaled. 

To  mask  the  treacheries  of  eye  and  lip 

Is  pride's  philosophy,  the  felon's  skill, 

The  code  of  kings,  the  priesthood's  mystic  creed, 

Unknown  to  accolytes  ;  and  none  beheld, 

Save  the  bronze  lares,  revel's  quivering  eye, 

And  dull  brow  bound  with  iron,  or  the  face 

Of  matron  guilt  pallid  with  watch  and  waste, 

And  trembling  in  the  faintness  of  a  heart 

Wrecked  by  excess  of  passion,  yet  again 

Gasping  for  midnight  poison  !  Untrimmed  lamps, 

Sculptured  with  shapes  of  ribaldry  to  lure  (l  7) 

Even  satiety  to  sin's  embrace, 

To  tempt  the  timid  and  inflame  the  inured, 

Stood  round  the  household  altar,  and  upon 

The  silken  couch  of  customary  crime 

Shed  the  pale,  sickly  light  of  vice  o'erworn. 

Oh  that  lascivious  guilt  at  midnight  wore 

The  lurid  look,  the  loathing  shame  of  morn ! 

Bracelets  of  gems,  enchanted  amulets, 


"76  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

And  vases  wrought  with  wanton  images, 
And  frescoes,  picturing  the  satyr  joys 
Of  Jove  and  Hermes  and  the  Laurel  God, 
(For  the  old  divinities  were  human  crimes) 
And  fountains,  with  nude  naiads  twining  round 
The  unveiled  tritons,  and  fair  pedestals, 
With  groups  of  Paphians,  in  the  forest  dim, 
(Where  gloating  forms  lifted  the  filmy  robes 
Of  the  bacchantes  in  voluptuous  sleep,) 
Holding  their  revelries  with  gods  disguised, 
And  every  portraiture  of  pleasure  known 
To  them,  whose  whole  religion  was  excess, — 
All  in  the  chaos  of  the  morning,  flung 
Alluring  raptures  over  sated  sense 
And  sickened  passion,  uttering,  without  voice, 
"  Ye  buy  Repentance  at  the  price  of  hell !" 

Loathing  the  fiend  they  folded  to  their  hearts, 
The  madness  and  the  malady  of  life, 
The  languor  and  the  listlessness,  that  spring 
From  the  exhaustion  of  a  maniac  lust, 
The  masters  of  the  throng,  in  marble  baths 
And  Araby's  perfumes  and  cordial  cups 
Sought  renovation  for  renewed  delights. 
Odors  and  thermal  waters  may  restore 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  77 

The  maddening  fever  of  the  flesh,  but  earth 

Hath  nought  to  hush  the  muttering  lips  of  guilt, 

Or  quell  Death's  agonies  which  guilt  inflicts. 

The  Sybarite  from  Salmacis  arose  ('  8) 

To  consummate  his  orgies  with  fresh  bliss, 

But  Lethe  had  no  power  o'er  memories 

Of  broken  vows  and  imprecating  oaths 

Made  by  the  River  of  the  Dead,  what  time 

Cocytus  moaned  and  Phlegethon  upcast 

Its  lurid  gleams  o'er  chasms  of  torrent  gloom, 

Bidding  the  banished  reveller,  who  dared 

To  mock  the  Styx,  roam  by  its  blackened  shores 

Through  the  dark  endlessness  of  shame  and  woe  ! 

It  was  the  Harvest  Festival ;  the  corn 
Of  Ceres  filled  the  garners,  and  the  vine 
Of  the  Mirth-Maker  from  the  winepress  poured 
Divine  Falernian  ;  and  the  autumnal  feast, 
The  gathering  of  the  fruits,  to  all  the  gods, 
(Through  the  Earth-Mother  and  the  King  of  Cups) 
Was  dedicated  with  a  soul  of  joy. 
In  every  temple  the  proud  priesthood  put 
Their  purple  vestures  and  tiaras  on 
For  the  solemnities  they  loved  to  hold, 
And  masked  the  haughtiness  of  peerless  power 


"78  THE    LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO   II. 

Beneath  an  austere  aspect  and  a  faith 

That  spared  no  violater  of  their  laws. 

Forth  with  the  swell  of  trumpet  and  the  voice 

Of  mellow  flute  and  cithern,  came  the  pomp 

In  ali  its  grandest  pageantry ;  the  god 

Of  light  gleaming  on  banners  wrought  with  forms 

Picturing  theogenies  or  bridal  rites, 

Or  earthly  deeds  of  the  divinities. 

First  walked  Jove's  pontiff  in  his  diadem, 

His  crowned  and  sceptred  standard  fleckered  o'er 

With  lightning  bolts  and  tempest  gloom,  upborne 

By  popse,  weaponed  for  the  sacrifice. 

Then  in  the  mazes  of  a  wanton  dance, 

Lifting  the  thyrsus  crowned  with  ivy  wreaths, 

And  muttering  banquet  hymns,  the  priests  of  mirth 

With  antic  faces  and  wild  steps  leapt  on. 

Next,  with  a  golden  ensign,  vales  and  hills 

Along  its  borders,  filled  with  flocks  and  herds, 

And  tall  sheaves  in  the  centre,  slowly  trod 

The  ministers  of  Saturn's  Daughter  blest. 

But,  dimming  all  by  splendor  only  known 

In  Egypt's  voiceless  mysteries,  above 

The  long  array  now  towered  the  gonfalon 

Of  Isis,  glowing  with  devices  shame 

Shrunk  to  behold,  the  shapes  of  earth's  worst  sins — (! ») 


CANTO   II.]  OP    POMPEII, 

Deified  fiends !  and  with  the  lozePs  smiles, 
Her  crowned  pastophori,  proud  of  their  shame, 
Waved  round  the  ribald  picture  as  they  passed 
The  mansions  of  their  votaries,  and  maids 
And  matrons  hailed  it  from  their  porticoes. 
Apollo  from  his  eyes  of  ecstacy 
And  lips  o^  bloom  filling  the  bosomed  air 
With  oracles ;  and  Hermes,  in  the  embrace 
Of  Iris,  winging  the  blue  heavens  of  love, 
With  his  enchanted  rod  pointing  to  earth ; 
Vesta  mid  her  Penates  welcoming  ; 
The  heavenly  Venus,  with  her  star'ight  eyes, 
Veiled  brow  and  girded  cestus,  looking  up 
To  the  pure  azure,  spotless  as  her  soul, 
Followed  by  the  more  worshipped  Cyprian  queen, 
So  shadowed  by  her  draperies  that  guilt 
Revelled  in  beauty  mocked  with  robes  to  tempt; 
The  war-god  with  the  ancilia  and  the  plumes  (a  °) 
Of  gory  fight,  whose  triumph  was  despair ; 
Proud  Pallas  with  stern  lips,  and  stainless  brow, 
Surmounted  by  its  olive  wreath,  and  eyes 
That  never  quailed  in  their  calm  chastity  ; 
Cotytto — the  earth-passion's  idol — mid 
The  unclothed  Baptae  painted  with  designs 
To  startle  e'en  sear'd  sense  into  a  blush ; 


80  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

The  sea-king  with  his  trident ;  the  castout 

And  shapeless  forger  of  the  lightning  bolts  ; 

The  deity  of  Erebus  with  her 

He  bore  from  Enna,  and  his  son,  the  god 

Of  gold ;  Diana,  in  her  treble  forms, 

Magician,  huntress,  virgin  of  the  skies  ; 

Hirsute  and  pranksy  Pan,  amid  his  fauns ; 

Nymphs,  dryads,  oreads  and  tritons  ; — all 

The  beautiful  or  dread  or  uncouth  thoughts 

The  imagination  made  divinities, 

In  gorgeous  chaos,  to  the  Pantheon 

Through  Pompeii's  streets  thronged  in  their  riot  hour. 

Behind  the  glittering  crowd,  the  hecatomb 
Of  victims,  led  by  golden  cords,  moved  on. 
To  every  god  the  sacrifice  was  meet ; 
The  dove  to  Venus,  and  the  bull  to  Mars ; 
To  Dian,  the  proud  stag — the  lawless  goat, 
That  tears  the  vine-leaves,  to  the  deity 
Of  the  gay  banquet ;  and  their  horns,  o'erlaid 
With  gold,  tossed  haughtily  amid  the  crowd, 
As,  rolling  their  undreading  eyeballs  round, 
They  glared  defiance  and  amazement,  mute 
Yet  merciless  when  fit  occasion  came. 
"  An  evil  omen  !  lo  !  the  victims  strive, 


CANTO    If.]  OF    POMPEII.  Sir 

And  we  must  drag  them  to  the  altar  !"  (21)  said 
The  trembling  augur — "  what  most  dismal  grief 
And  fatal  destiny  shall  follow  this  ?" 
Yet  onward  surged  the  multitudes  with  boughs 
Of  olive  in  their  hands  and  laurel  crowns, 
And  Zeian  barley  spears  folded  in  wreaths 
By  locks  from  richest  fleeces,  as  they  passed 
The  temple  images,  with  practised  skill, 
Bending  their  foreheads  on  expanded  palms. 
And  onward  o'er  the  Appian  Way  the  host 
Of  mitred,  robed  and  bannered  priests  drew  nigh 
The  fane  of  all  the  gods,  and,  at  a  word, 
The  music  softened  to  a  solemn  strain, 
The  measured  voices  of  the  holy  chiefs 
Ascended  in  a  song,  and,  as  they  ceased, 
The  people,  like  the  ocean's  myriad  waves, 
Raised  their  responses  to  the  harvest  prayer. 

THE    P^EAN    OF    THE    PANTHEON. 

STROPHE. 

Wielder  of  Worlds  that  round  Elysium  dance 
Beneath  the  brightness  of  thy  sleepless  eye, 

Who  from  the  bosom  of  the  flame  dost  glance, 
And  feelst  our  time  in  thine  Eternity  ! 
11 


82  THE     LAST     NI6HT  [CANTO    II. 

Thou  deathless  Jove ! 
Monarch  of  awe  and  Love  ! 
Look  from  the  radiant  height  of  thy  dominion         82 

On  thine  adorers  now, 

And  waft  thy  smile  on  Hermes'  rainbow  pinion, 
And  bend  thine  awful  brow  ! 

Immortal  and  supreme ! 
With  vows  and  victims  to  thy  shrine  we  come, 

And  hearts  that  breathe  the  incense  of  their  praise. 
And  first  fruits  borne  from  each  protected  home, 

To  bless  thee  for  the  blessings  of  our  days ! 
Have  we  not  heard  thy  spirit  in  the  dreams, 
That  glance  o'er  thought  like  morn's  young  light  on  streams  ? 
In  visions,  watched  thy  bird  of  triumph  near 
The  azure  realms  of  thine  ethereal  sphere, 
Waiting  behests  of  victories  and  powers 

And  counsels  from  -thy  throne  ? 
Hath  not  thy  thunder  voice,  the  summer  showers, 

The  lightning  spirit  all  thine  own, 
Bade  strew  the  exulting  earth  with  fruits  and  flowers  ? 

Therefore,  we  render  up 
The  spotless  victim  from  the  wood 

And  household  field,  and  from  libation  cup 
Pour  the  rich  vine's  unmingled  blood. 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  83 

Accept  our  praise  and  prayer, 
Sceptred  Immortal  of  the  chainless  Air  ! 

•         .  •  nA 

Chorus. — King  of  Elysium  !  hear,  oh  hear 
From  thine  Olympian  seat ! 

To  priest  and  people  bow  thy  sovereign  ear ! 
We  dare  not  see  thy  face,  but  kiss  thy  sacred  feet ! 

ANTISTROPHE. 

God  of  the  mbrnlight,  when  the  orient  glows 
With  thy  triumphant  smile,  and  ether  feels 
The  Hours  and  Seasons,  mid  their  clouds  of  rose, 
Swept  o'er  its  bosom  on  the  living  wheels 

Of  thy  proud  car, 

When  through  the  abysses  of  the  heaven  each  star 
Before  the  splendor  of  thy  spirit  fades 
Like  insect  glimmerings  in  the  noontide  glades  ! 

Hail,  radiant  Phrebus  !  lord 
Of  love  and  life,  of  wisdom,  music,  mirth. 

At  whose  resistless  word 
Being  and  bliss  dance  o'er  the  blossomed  earth  \ 

O  Pythian  Victor,  hear ! 
Pseonian  healer  of  our  ills,  behold  ! 

Breather  of  oracles  !  thy  sons  draw  near 
To  feel  the  music  of  thy  lyre  unfold, 
As  shadows  change  before  the  morn  to  gold, 


84  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

The  sealed-up  volume  of  our  darkened  minds. 

Breathe  on  Favonian  winds, 
And  from  the  effluence  of  immortal  light 

Strew  our  dim  thoughts  with  rays, 

Till,  sorrowing  o'er  this  failing  praise, 
We  know,  with  burning  hearts,  to  sing  thy  deeds  aright ! 

God  of  the  harp  and  bow, 
Whose  thoughts  are  sunbeam  arrows,  hear  ! 

Giver  of  flowers  !  dissolver  of  the  snow  ! 
Accept  our  gifts  and  let  thy  sons  draw  near  ! 

Chorus. — lo  Psean  !  from  thy  sphere, 

King  of  prophets,  hear,  oh  hear  ! 
From  hallowed  fount  and  hoary  hill, 

And  haunt  of  song  and  sunlight  near, 
With  inspirations  come  and  every  bosom  fill  ! 

E  P  O  D  E. 

Reveal  the  shrine  !  wave  ye  the  laurel  boughs, 

Dipped  in  the  fount  that  purifies  the  heart ! 
Unsullied  Dian !  breathe  our  holiest  vows  ! 
Storm-crowned  Poseidon  !  to  the  imperial  mart 
Thou  bearst  the  Median  gems, 
And  loftiest  Asian  diadems, 
And  o'er  thy  billowy  world  we  pour  our  praise  ! 
Uranian  Venus !  let  the  Vesper  rays 


CANTO    II.]  OP     POMPEII.  85 

Of  thy  beatitude  around  us  float  and  dwell, 

Till  thine  ethereal  loveliness  o'ercomes 
The  stains  and  shadows  of  thy  mocker  here, 
And  high  the  vine-god's  song  may  swell 

Among  the  shrines  of  Vesta's  hallowed  home 

Without  a  following  tear ; 
And  Isis'  mystic  rites  may  thrill 
The  soul  with  Plato's  most  celestial  vision, 

And  Pallas  in  her  grandeur  fill 
The  heart  of  Ceres  with  her  mind  elysian  ! 

Blesser  with  bounty,  hail  ! 
What  but  thy  gifts  can  mortals  offer  thee  ? 

Smile  on  the  banquet  and  the  song  and  tale 
The  Dionysius  breathes  to  thy  divinity ! 

Hail,  all  ye  gods  of  air,  earth,  wave  and  wind ! 
Ye  oceans  from  the  streams  of  human  mind  ! 

With  spotless  garments  and  unsandalled  feet, 
Purified  bodies  and  undaring  souls, 

We  the  Pantheon  tread !  oh,  meet, 
Meet  your  adorers  !  lo  !  the  incense  rolls 
Along  Corinthian  columns  and  wrought  roof, 

Like  Manes  wandering  o'er  the  fields  of  bliss  ! 
Chill  not  our  worship  with  a  stern  reproof! 
Hail,  all  ye  gods  !  we  worship  with  a  kiss  ! 


86  THE    LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

Chorus. — From  shore  and  sea  and  vale  and  mountain, 
Hail  ye  divinities  of  weal  or  woe  !  • 

Olympus,  Ida,  grotto,  fountain, — 
We  in  your  Pantheon  kneel — around  your  altars  bow  ! 

Thro'  the  bronze  gates,  sculptured  with  legends  feigned 
Of  the  theocrasies,  the  pageant  swept, 
A  thousand  feet  dancing  the  song,  and  paused 
Around  the  shrines  they  dragged  the  victims  up. 
Then  bending  from  Jove's  altar  to  the  east, 
The  Pontiff  raised  the  golden  chalice,  crowned 
With  wine  unmingled,  and,  amid  the  shower  (*2) 
Of  green  herbs,  myrrh,  obelia  and  vine  leaves 
Poured  out  the  brimmed  libation  on  the  head 
Of  the  awaiting  sacrifice,  from  flocks 
Chosen  for  beauty,  and  young  quickening  life. 
Then  with  a  laurel  branch,  he  sprinkled  all, 
Circling  the  altar  thrice  ;  the  heralds,  then, 
Cried,  "  Who  is  here '?"  and  all  the  multitudes 
Like  billows  answered  deep,  "  Many  and  good  !" 
"  Breathe  not  the  words  of  omen  !"  "  Lo  !  we  stand 
Like  Harpocrates  in  the  vestibule  !" 
The  High  Priest,  mid  the  wreathing  incense,  raised 
The  prayer ;  the  augur,  with  his  wand,  marked  out 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII. 

The  heavens  ;  the  aruspices,  with  eyes  of  awe 

Behind  the  slayers  of  the  sacrifice 

Stood  gazing  on  the  victims.  "  Hath  no  spot, 

No  arrow  from  the  Huntress'  bow  or  dart 

Of  Pythius  stained  the  offering  ?"  said  the  priest. 

"  Tis  fair  and  perfect,  and  unblemished  stands 

To  give  its  body  to  the  Harvest  Queen 

And  all  the  gods  ! — We  pour  into  its  ear 

The  holy  water — yet  it  doth  not  nod  ! 

We  bend  the  neck — it  struggles  for  the  flight! 

Dismal  presages  !  omens  of  despair !" 

The  Pontiff  quailed,  not  in  the  dread  of  gods, 

(His  sole  divinity  was  his  own  power) 

But  fear  of  superstition's  evil  thought, 

As  from  the  fluctuating  host  arose 

A  smothered  shriek  of  terror  ;  and,  in  tones 

Quick,  stern,  and  deep  as  the  exploded  bolt, 

Commanded  "  Strike !  the  wrath  of  Jove  attends 

The  impious  delay  !"  and,  hushed  as  heaven 

When  broods  the  hurricane  on  cloudy  deeps, 

The  worshippers  stood  trembling  as  they  looked, — 

The  agonies  and  ecstasies  of  fear 

And  hope,  in  stormlike  glimpses,  shadowing  o'er 

The  broken  waves  of  faces — on  the  shrine, 

And  saw  the  axe  of  the  cultrarius  fall ! 


88  THE    LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

Maddened  and  bleeding,  yet  not  slain,  the  ram 
Flung  back  his  twisted  horns — sent  up  a  sound 
Of  anguish,  and  in  phrenzy  on  the  air 
Springing,  in  his  fierce  death  throes,  fell  amidst 
Dismayed  adorers  and  gasped  out  his  life. 
Shrieks  o'er  the  panting  silence  rose  and  filled 
The  temple,  and  in  horror  shrunk  the  throng, 
As  o'er  the  accursed  rites  pale  Nemesis, 
Leading  the  Destinies,  had  come  to  blast 
The  sacrifice  with  sacrilege  ;  but  now 
The  Pontiff's  voice,  bidding  his  lictors  quell 
The  tumult,  called  another  victim  up, 
And  stillness  brooded  o'er  the  stricken  crowd. 
Gashing  the  lifted  neck,  the  popse  held 
The  brazen  ewers  beneath  the  bubbling  blood, 
And  white-robed  flamens  bade  the  people  note 
The  happiest  augury — without  a  sigh 
Or  tremor,  seen  or  heard,  the  victim  died. 
Then  flayed  and  opened  they  the  offering, 
Lifting  the  vitals  on  their  weapons'  points. 
With  writhing  brows,  pale  lips  and  ashen  cheeks, 
And  failing  hearts,  in  horror's  panic  voice, 
The  aruspices  proclaimed  the  prodigies. 
"  The  entrails  palpitate — the  liver's  lobes 
Are  withered,  and  the  heart  hath  shrivelled  up !" 


CANTO  iii]  orrdMrfcii.  89 

Groans  rose  from  living  surge?  round ;  yet  loud 
The  High  Priest  uttered — "  Lay  them  on  the  fire  !'' 
'Twas  done ;  and  wine  and  oil  poured  amply  o'er.» 
And  still  the  sacrificer  wildly  cried — - 
"  Woe  unto  all !  the  wandering  fires  hiss  up 
Through  the  black  vapors — lapping  o'er  the  flesh 
They  burn  not,  but  abandon  !  ashes  fill 
The  temple,  whirled  upon  the  wind  that  wave's 
The  flame  through  smothering  clouds,  towards  the  Mount, 
That,  since  first  light,  hath  hurled  its  lava  forth ! 
Hark  !  the  wild  thunder  bursts  upon  the  right ! 
Ravens  and  vultures  past  us  on'  the  left ! 
Fly,  votaries  !  from  the  wrath  of  heaven,  oh  fly  ! 
The  Vestals  shriek,  the  sacred  fire  is  dead  ! 
The  gods  deny  our  prayers  !  fly  to  your  homes  !" 
From  the  Pantheon  struggled  the  vast  throng, 
And  rushed  dismayed  unto  their  household  hearths, 
While  from  Vesuvius  swelled  a  pyramid 
Of  smoke  streaked  o'er  with  gory  flame,  and  sounds, 
Like  voices  howling  curses  deep  in  earth, 
From  its  abysses  rose,  and  ashes  fell 
Through  the  thick  panting  air  in  burning  clouds. 
All  save  the  haughty  Pontiff,  mocking  fear, 
Had  flown  the  gorgeous  Pantheon,  but  he  sate 
On  the  high  altar,  mid  the  trophied  pomp 
12 


yU  T  H  li     1,  A  S  T    N  I  U  H  T  [CANTO   II. 

Of  priceless  consecrations  to  the  gods, 
Breathing  his  scorn  and  imprecations  on 
The  dastard  people  and  the  blasted  rites, 
When,  heaving  as  on  billows,  while  a  moan 
Passed  o'er  the  statues,  the  proud  temple  swayed 
As  'twere  an  evening  cloud,  from  side  to  side, 
Rocking  beneath  the  earthquake  that  convulsed 
Sea,  shore  and  mountain,  at  its  hollow  voice, 
Hurled  into  ruin  ;  and  his  lips  yet  glowed 
With  execrations  on  the  sacrifice, 
When  from  its  pedestal,  bending  with  brow 
Of  vengeance  and  fixed  lips  that  almost  spake, 
Jove's  giant  image  fell  and  crushed  to  earth 
The  Thunderer's  mocker  in  his  temple  home  ! 

Like  an  earth-shadowing  cypress,  o'er  the  skie* 
Lifting  its  labyrinth  of  leaves,  the  boughs 
Of  molten  brass,  the  giant  trunk  of  flame, 
The  breath  of  the  volcano's  Titan  heart 
Hung  in  the  heavens ;  and  every  maddened  pulse 
Of  the  vast  mountain's  earthquake  bosom  hurled 
Its  vengeance  on  the  earth  that  gasped  beneath. 
Yet  mortals,  then,  as  now,  deemed  deities 
The  essence  of  men's  passions — swayed  like  leaves, 
By  orison  or  chanted  hymn,  from  deeds. 


CANTO    II.]  OF    POMPEII.  91 

Ere  time  had  birth,  appointed.     So,  within 
Their  secret  chambers  and  the  silent  groves, 
While  Ruin's  eye  from  the  red  living  bolt 
Glanced  with  a  glare  of  scorn  upon  their  rites, 
The  doomed  idolaters,  abashed  yet  fain 
To  win  redemption  from  suspended  wrath, 
Round  their  Penates  cowered,  while  magians  came, 
Sybils  and  sorcerers,  to  mock  the  mind 
With  mystic  divinations,  and  reveal, 
What  prophets  need  not  show,  folly  and  guilt. 
To  avert  the  threated  vengeance,  Egypt's  spells, 
Muttered  in  sounds  the  utterer  made  not  speech, 
By  magic  incantations  wrought,  called  up 
Earth  demons  to  unfold  the  future's  deeds. 

THE  SYBIL'S  INVOCATION. 

From  the  hill  forest's  gloom, 
Where  the  lemures  dwell ; 

From  the  depth  of  the  tomb, 
Whence  the  soul  parts  to  hell ; 

From  the  dim  caves  of  death 
Where  the  coil'd  serpent  sleeps  not. 

And  the  lone  deadly  heath 
Where  the  night  spirit  weeps  not ; 


92  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   II, 

From  the  shore  where  the  wreck  lies, 
And  the  surge  o'er  the  dead ; 

From  the  heart  of  the  dark  sides, 
Where  the  tempest  is  bred ; 
Ye  Demigods,  hear ! 
Ye  pale  shadows,  ascend  ! 
And  ye  demons,  appear ! 
To  drink  the  bann'd  cup  ere  the  weird  rites  shall  end  ! 

From  the  ocean  deeps  come, 
Where  the  coral  groves  glimmer, 
In  your  trailed  robes  of  gloom, 
Making  terror's  face  dimmer ; 

From  the  crag-pass  of  slaughter, 
On  the  voiced  air  of  death, 

Come,  shed  o'er  your  daughter 
Your  oracle  breath ! 

On  the  night  vapor  stealing 
From  the  marsh  o'er  the  mountain  ; 

On  the  bland  air  revealing 
No  doom  by  the  fountain ; 
Ye  Demigods,  come ! 
Ye  pale  shadows,  ascend  ! 
And  ye  demons,  from  gloom ! 
To  drink  the  bann'd  cup  ere  the  weird  rites  shall  end ! 


CANTO    II.]  OF    POMPEII.  93 

Be  ye  blest  or  accursed, 
Be  ye  famished  or  sated, 

In  pale  Orcus  the  worst, 
In  Elysium  the  fated ; 

If  ye  roam  by  the  shore 
Which  ye  never  may  leave, 

Or  in  nectar  adore 
Where  ye  never  can  grieve  ; 

Be  ye  gross  and  malign, 
Or  elysian  as  air — 

Come  forth  and  divine 
What  the  future  may  bear  ! 
Ye  Demigods,  come ! 
Ye  pale  shadows  ascend! 
And  ye  demons  from  gloom ! 
To  drink  the  bann'd  cup  ere  the  weird  rites  shall  end ! 

Amid  the  darkened  necromantic  haunts 
Of  worse  fiends  than  the  evoked,  no  voice  replied. 
Then,  moulding  effigies  to  suit  her  hate, 
And  dropping  venom  in  each  pictured  pore, 
The  Sybil,  with  dishevelled  serpent  locks, 
And  Lamian  features,  bade  the  fiend  of  fire 
Open  the  ritual  of  hell,  and  read 
Revealings  of  the  Destinies — and  then. 


94  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

She  drank  from  the  bann'd  skullcup  poison  draughts, 
Pledging  the  damned  !  yet  silence  looked  reply. 

And  each  Promethean  divination  brought  (23) 
Nor  shadow  nor  response  ;  the  mirrored  glass 
Returned  no  image  ;  the  drowned  ring  sent  up 
No  echo ;  whirling  gusts  effaced  the  forms 
Of  letters  writ  in  ashes  ;  magic  gems 
No  longer  kept  their  power  ;  the  daphne  burned 
Without  a  sound  ;  and  every  poison  herb, 
Though  with  unearthly  skill  distilled,  no  more, 
Like  Nessus'  robe  and  wild  Medea's  gift, 
Dispersed  the  agonies  of  maniac  deaths. 

Restless  in  doubt,  the  human  mind  hath  sought 
Knowledge  in  every  hour  of  time,  through  tears. 
Wasting  and  want  and  haggard  solitude, 
Anguish  and  madness  ;  hovering  o'er  the  verge 
Of  the  eternal  ocean,  from  whose  depths 
Earth's  ghastly  spectres  rise  to  mock  at  hope, 
The  spirit  follows  through  forbidden  paths 
The  meteor  of  its  own  vain  thought,  till  death 
Shrouds,  palls  and  sepulchres  the  throbbing  dust. 
Vain  were  petitions  murmured  to  the  gods 
Priapus  and  Cunina  to  dissolve 


CANTO    II  ]  OFPOMPEII.  95 

The  spells  of  Fascinators ;  the  evil  eye 

Of  the  Illyrian  or  Triballi  sent 

Its  wonted  glance   into  the  trembling  breast, 

Possessing,  as  they  feigned,  the  soul  with  fiends. 

Vainly,  they  wore  baccharis  wreaths — in  vain, 

Their  jasper,  rhamn  or  laurel  amulets 

On  brow  or  bosom  hung  !  the  magi  dreamed. 

Scorned  thus  by  demon  and  by  deity, 
In  guilt's  delirium  to  Isis'  shrine, 
The  multitude,  beneath  thick  canopies, 
As  dreading  the  last  hope  of  their  despair, 
Bear  Pompeii's  loveliest  virgin  (24) — in  the  bud 
And  perfume  of  her  sinless  being  doomed 
To  perish  in  the  vault  of  mysteries, 
That  evil  men,  by  shedding  guiltless  blood, 
May  startle  Fate  to  speak  their  doom  !  alas  ! 
Must  Death,  from  his  pale  realms  of  fear,  so  soon 
Breathe  on  that  beautiful  and  radiant  brow 
And  leave  it  blasted  ?  on  the  blossomed  lips, 
Whence  music  gushed  in  streams  of  rainbow  thought, 
And  chill  them  into  breathlessness  and  gloom? 
That  vermil  cheek — those  eyes,  where  thoughts  repose, 
Like  clustered  stars  on  the  blue  autumn  skies, 
That  head  of  beauty  and  that  heart  of  love — 


96  T  H  E    JL  A  S  T    N  I  O  II  T  [CANTO    II. 

Oh,  must  they  languish,  moulder,  and  depart, 

Without  a  sigh,  from  the  sweet  earth  they  loved  ? 

When  has  the  bigot,  whatsoe'er  his  crown,  (2S) 

Cidaris,  mitre,  oak  or  laurel  wreath, 

Spared,  having  power  to  torture  ?  when,  the  slave 

Of  superstition  slackened  in  his  zeal 

Of  loving  God  by  loathing  humankind  ? 

Weep  with  the  crocodile — embrace  the  asp — 

Doubt  not  the  avalanche  of  ages— meet 

The  famished  wolfs  sardonic  smile — and  sleep 

Beneath  the  upas — but  believe  not,  man 

E'er  yet  had  mercy  when  his  guilt  feared  hell ! 

With  hurried  footfalls  o'er  the  lava  walks  (2  6) 
And  through  the  Forum's  colonnades,  unmarked 
But  by  quick  glances,  to  the  Mount  of  Flame 
Turning  again,  the  worshippers  passed  on, 
And  the  proud  temple  gates  behind  them  closed. 
Then  from  the  altar  of  the  idol  came 
The  crowned  hierophant,  in  robes  o'erwrought 
With  mystic  symbols,  emblems  of  a  power 
Invisible,  yet  everywhere  supreme, 
As  the  air  that  shrouds  the  glaciers,  and,  like  that, 
Waked  to  annihilate,  by  one  low  voice. 
Lifting  his  dusky  hand,  gleaming  with  gems. 


CAKTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII. 

He  waved  the  throng  to  worship,  with  hushed  lips, 
And,  with  a  gesture,  bidding  neophytes 
Come  forth,  and  raise  the  victim,  bound  and  stretched 
On  the  Mosaic  floor,  in  horror's  arms, 
With  a  hyaena  step,  through  pillar'd  aisles, 
Dim,  still  and  awful,  to  the  vaulted  crypt 
Of  gloom  and  most  unhallowed  sacrifice 
He  led  the  bearers  of  the  victim  maid. 
One  shuddering  farewell — one  shriek,  that  gave 
A  legion  echoes,  from  her  muffled  lips 
Gushed !  then  in  gloom  her  hyacinthine  hair 
Vanished — and  from  the  veiled  recesses  rose 
The  music  of  the  sistrum,  (27)  and  strange  gleams 
Of  violet  and  crimson  lights  along 
The  shrine  and  statues  flitted  momently 
And  faded  ;  and  mysterious  phantoms  glanced 
O'er  the  far  skirting  corridors,  and  left 
The  awed  mind  wildered  with  a  doubting  sense 
Of  silence  broken  by  what  was  not  sound, 
Nor  breathings  of  a  living  heart — nor  tones 
Of  forest  leaves  nor  lapses  of  the  wind — 
But  a  dread  haunting  of  a  sightless  fear 
Of  unformed  peril — a  crushed  thought,  that  through 
The  twilight  dimness  of  the  fane  o'crhung 
Gigantic  beings  of  diluvian  realms, 

13 


98  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

Voiceless  and  viewless,  yet  endowed  with  might 

To  rend  the  mortal  breather  of  a  sigh  ! 

Down  the  chill,  dusky  granite  steps  the  priest 

Guided  the  virgin  sacrifice  ;  above, 

The  massy  and  barr'd  vault  door  shut ;  and  night. 

Shown  in  its  ghastly  terrors  by  wild  rays 

Of  many  tinctured  lights,  fell  on  the  heart 

Of  the  devoted,  desolated  maid. 

Through  still  descending  labyrinths,  where  coiled 

All  loathsome  creatures,  and  dark  waters  dripped 

With  a  deep  sullen  sound  like  pulses  heard 

By  captives  dying  in  their  dungeon  tomb, 

The  Egyptian  glided  hurriedly  and  still. 

Then  o'er  a  green  lagoon,  whose  festered  flood 

Flung  back  a  deathsome  glare  as  the  lights  sunk 

Upon  its  sleeping  surface  stretching  far 

Into  the  floating  masses  of  the  gloom, 

They,  in  a  mouldered  barque,  went  silently. 

The  plated  crocodile,  on  the  earth  and  pool 

Suspended,  ope'd  his  sluggish  jaws  and  looked 

Upon  the  priest  with  fawning  earnestness  ; 

He  gazed  upon  the  victim  and  passed  by, 

And  the  loathed  reptile  dreamed  of  coming  feasts. 

Hugged  and  spiral  grew  the  pathway ;  bats, 

Waving  the  spectre  lights,  winged  through  the  vaults, 


CANTO   II.]  OF    POMPEII.  !)9 

Startled  yet  welcoming  ;  and  serpents  lanced 
Their  quivering  tongues  of  venom  forth  and  hissed 
Their  salutations  ;  and  the  lizards  crept 
Along  the  cold,  wet  ridges  of  the  caves ; 
.  And  oft  the  maiden's  agonizing  eyes 
Beheld  in  niches  or  sarcophagi 
Mortality's  abhorred  resemblances, 
With  folded  serpents  sculptured  overhead ; 
And  oft  the  feet  of  the  familiars  struck 
Strewn  relics  of  the  victims  offered  here ! 

Winding  through  tangled  passages — her  brain 
O'erfraught  with  the  still  horror — for  no  sound 
Lived  through  the  endless  caverns — thought  and  sense 
Of  being  fled  from  the  doomed  maiden's  heart, 
Time,  mystery  and  darkness  and  lone  death 
Passed  from  the  trances  of  her  brain,  and  earth 
And  agony  and  wrong  and  violence 
Were  but  the  shadows  childhood  sports  withal ! 
She  woke  amid  the  gush  and  hymning  voice 
Of  fountains  and  the  living  gleam  of  fires, 
And  swell  of  tenderest  music ;  and  beside 
The  purple  couch  of  luxury,  whereon, 
Free  from  all  bonds  save  chains  of  jewelled  gold, 


100  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

In  a  vast  chamber,  hung  with  flowers  and  gems, 
She  lay,  the  priest  of  Isis  stood  ; — his  eye 
No  longer  stern  and  chill,  his  lips  no  more 
Like  sculptured  cruelty,  but  bright  and  warm 
And  moist  with  mellowest  wine ;  and  o'er  his  face, 
Late  masked  in  mockeries,  the  burning  light 
Of  Passion  broke,  as  thus,  with  wanton  smiles, 
He  breathed  his  heart  upon  his  victim's  ear. 
"  Thy  path  to  pleasure,  like  the  world's,  rny  love  ! 
Was  through  the  empire  of  pale  doubt  and  pain, 
Where  many  visions  of  detested  things 
Will  consummate  in  rapture  deigned  thee  here. 
And  didst  thou  think,  my  queen  of  loveliness ! 
That  by  the  dastard  crowd  of  Pompeii 
Thou  wert  borne  hither  that  the  sacred  lips 
Of  Isis,  parted  by  thy  purest  blood, 
Might  give  responses  to  fiend-loving  fools  ?• 
The  goddess  hath  a  voice — when  1  ordain, 
And,  when  her  mysteries  have  filled  their  hearts 
With  myriad  terrors  to  which  death  is  bliss, 
They  shall  not  lack  an  answer  to  their  quest.  - 
But  this  is  Love's  elysium ;  men  may  seek 
Another  by  Jove's  grace — but  this  for  me  ! 
Be  their's  eternities  of  prayer  and  hymn ! 
Bnt  Time  and  wine  and  Venus. are  my  gods !" 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  101 

"  Holy  Diana !  hath  thine  Iris  (2  8)  come 
To  lead  me  through  elysium's  myrtle  groves  ? 
Thanks  for  the  briefest  pangs  of  death !  my  soul 
Blends  with  the  radiance,  songs  and  incense  here 
In  rapture,  unforgetting  earth's  dark  ills, 
The  victim  bonds,  gloom,  terror,  madness  borne 
Amid  the  vaulted  corridors — deep  thanks, 
Chaste  Dian !  for  the  dart  that  winged  me  here  !" 
Thus  she  lay  whispering  faintly  while  the  veins 
Again  like  violets  began  to  glow 
And  Thought  from  the  elysian  portals  turned 
To  shed,  once  more,  its  starlight  o'er  her  brow. 
The  lips,  like  rifted  sunset  clouds,  burned  o'er 
With  beauty,  and  the  sloe-dark  eyes,  from  lids 
Of  loveliness  o'erarched  like  rainbows,  flashed 
Upon  the  luxuries  of  wantonness 
With  a  delirious  brightness  ;  and  she  pressed 
Her  Peri  hand  upon  her  troubled  brain 
As  dismal  memories  through  all  the  pomp 
Around  her  thronged.     "  Do  visions  o'er  me  rush 
Through  the  ivory  gate  ?  or  what  is  this  ?  methinks 
The  limbs  of  Vesta  pass  not  Charon's  ward — 
Yet  bear  I  them !  and  I  behold  no  forms 
Like  the  supreme  divinities  who  dwell 
Bcvond  the  azure  curtains  of  the  skies !" 


10^  T  H  E     L  A  S  T     N  I  G  II  T  [CANTO    II. 

"  Look  on  thy  suppliant  worshipper,  my  love  ! 
Thy  Saturn,  my  Osiris,  aptly  feigned, 
With  Horus  and  the  laughing  boy-god,  wreathed 
With  lotus  and  charm'd  myrtle,  must  be  now 
The  only  Guardians  of  our  paradise — 
For  thou  art  the  voluptuous  Paphian  Queen, 
And  must  with  kisses  be  adored  !  thy  breath 
Is  odor — on  that  fair  full  bosom  sleep 
A  thousand  loves — those  lustrous  eyes  enchant — 
And  the  limbs  moulded  by  divinest  skill" — 

"  Reveal  thy  speech !  what  import  bear  these  words  ? 
Dream  I,  or  art  thou  the  hierophant 
Of  Isis,  who  from  Mizraim's  pyramids 
Broughtst  new  gods  into  Latium  1  I  must  er  r, 
For  thou  wearst  not  the  countenance  that  chilled 
My  soul,  and  tyrannized  o'er  Pompeii's  crowd, 
But  rather,  like  earth's  faun  or  satyr  fiend, 
Gloatest  o'er  some  revenge  for  sin  unknown !" 
The  maiden's  lost  mind  came  in  all  its  strength 
And  purity,  and  in  the  dreadless  might 
Of  thoughts  unsoiled  by  evil,  she  resolved 
To  match  unfriended  virtue  with  the  power 
Of  Passion  in  religion's  mask  beyond 
The  Law's  arraignment  or  the  avenger's  wrath. 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  103 

"  Simple  as  Pyrrha  when  the  shattered  barque 
Of  hoar  Deucalion  landed  from  the  foam  !" 
With  blandishments,  said  Isis'  haughty  priest. 
"  Knowst  thou  not,  loveliest !  that  holy  men 
Must  never  shame  their  gods  by  deeds  unlike 
Their  sacred  exploits  ?  what  were  deathlessness 
Without  delight  ?  eternity,  without 
The  ecstasies  of  woman's  winning  smile? 
Thy  country's  hoarest  fathers,  most  for  skill 
In  council,  and  unequalled  virtue  famed, 
In  canon  and  enactment  of  old  law, 
Did  consecrate  corruption  and  commit 
Captives  to  bondage  of  their  tyrant's  will, 
And  build  proud  temples  for  the  haunt  of  shame 
Being  but  mimes  of  the  Immortals,  then, 
As  countless  births,  revered  as  prodigies, 
And  chained  Prometheus,  shunning  their  gift, 
To  meet  their  wrath,  and  mad  Lycaon  driven 
Into  the  wild,  can  testify  in  tears. 
Why,  then,  should  the  weak  waiter  on  the  rites 
Of  the  Omnipotents  refrain  from  joy  ? 
Folly  must  feel  his  masterdom,  when  words, 
Called  oracles,  are  bought,  but,  in  all  else, 
The  priest  was  framed  for  pleasure — and  thy  smile, 
Hebe  of  Beauty !  from  thy  vassal  here 


101  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CAN  TO    1J. 

Shall  win  a  better  augury  than  ail 

Campania's  hecatombs  ! — time  wastes,  my  bliss  ! 

Speak  thou  the  oracle  I  shall  repeat 

Through  Isis'  marble  lips !  the  answer's  thine  !" 

•••  :';s/j 'h!>-,.>,»  -.'ij  ?;it;'t*  *ii"';.  "  'i.trufa  -i  t :  :  '. 

"  Thus  be  the  answer,  then,  "  Ye  seek  my  shrine 
To  know  the  Future  and  the  will  of  heaven — 
The  Past  reveals  both  !"  or,  if  this  suit  not 
The  goddess  who  doth  fold  her  tissued  words 
So  Passion  may  unravel  good  or  ill, 
Thus  let  the  mystic  oracle  declare : 
"  Ye  shall  pass  o'er  the  Tyrrhene  sea  in  ships 
Laden  with  virgins,  gems  and  gods,  and  spoils 
Of  a  dismembered  empire,  and  a  cloud 
Of  light  shall  radiate  your  ocean  path  !" 
Breathes  not  the  soul  of  mystery  in  this  1  (2  9) 

"  Ay,  love  !  and  after  his  desire  or  hope 
Each  may  interpret — veriest  oracles 
Must  have  a  myriad  meanings — and  the  voice 
Of  Memphian  Isis  shall,  at  once,  respond 
To  the  denied  apostates ;  then,  my  life ! 
While  dotards  live  on  riddles  and  embrace 
Shadows  as  did  the  Thunderer  what  time 
The  ox-eyed  empress  jealoused  of  his  deeds,      '-  v 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPKII.  105 

We  at  Love's  heavenly  banquet  shall  repose 
And  drink  the  ecstacies  of  mingled  hearts ! 
—The  sistrum  sounds !  the  sculptured  lips  shall  speak  !'•' 
*7l«b  !4oj.  ,^itbl*i««-ijBi<«*Wa  &(\H]'II*  bolioO 
Exulting  thus,  the  idol  minister, 
Pressing  the  bosom  of  great  Serapis, 
Whose  statue  by  a  Doric  pillar  stood, 
Disclosed  a  stairway  guiding  through  the  shaft 
Unto  the  altar  of  the  fane,  and  thence 
Within  the  hollow  image,  from  whose  mouth 
Responses  breathed  that  fitted  any  deed 
Or  a?ra ;  fable  was  religion's  name. 
Up  through  the  open  bosom  of  the  God, 
Saying,  (3  °)  "  The  mocker  Momus  has  his  jest 
And  more,  since  e'en  the  Immortal's  breast  bears  now 
A  mirror" — passed  the  priest — and  soundlessly 
The  daedal  portal,  bossed  with  vine-wreaths,  closed. 
That  moment,  from  the  flowered  and  purple  couch 
The  maiden  sprung,  through  any  caverned  path, — 
All  peril  and  loathed  sights  and  awful  sounds, 
To  fly  from  pomp,  pollution  and  despair. 
Bounding  along  the  tesselated  floor, 
She  passed  the  beds  of  banquet,  whose  perfume 
From  sightless  vases  stole,  and  gained  the  verge 
Of  the  vast  gleaming  hall — she  met  the  waves 

14 


100  THE    LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

Of  black  and  silent  depths  that  seemed  to  scowl 

On  her  vain  flight!  to  every  side  she  flew 

But  to  encounter  granite  battlements, 

Coiled  serpents,  clustered  sepulchres,  cold  cliffs, 

Gigantic  sphynxes,  towering  grim  o'er  lakes 

Of  sulphur,  or  the  dreadful  shapes  of  fiends. 

The  gorgeous  lights  grew  shadowy,  and  stained  clouds 

Of  vapor  floated  o'er  the  pillared  roof, 

Taking  all  forms  of  terror ;  and  low  sighs 

And  muttered  dirges  from  the  waters  stole 

Along  the  arches  ;  and  through  all  the  vaults, 

Into  a  thousand  wailing  echoes  rent, 

A  shriek,  loud,  quick  and  full  of  agonies, 

Burst  from  the  deep  foundations  of  the  fane. 

With  steps  like  earliest  childhood's,  to  her  couch 

The  maiden  faltered  back,  and  there,  with  soul 

Too  overfraught  for  wished  unconsciousness, 

Gasping  her  breath,  she  listened  !  Sullen  sounds 

Wandered  along  the  temple  aisles  above ; 

Then  came  the  clang  of  cymbals  and  strange  words 

Uttered  amid  the  far-off  music's  swell : 

And  the  prostrated  multitudes,  like  woods 

Hung  with  the  leaves  of  autumn,  stirred  ;  then  fell 

A  silence  when  the  heart  was  heard — a  pause — 

When  ardent  hope  became  an  agony  ; 


CANTO    II. J  OF     POMPEII.  107 

And  parted  lips  and  panting  pulses — eyes 

Wild  with  their  watchings,  brows  with  beaded  dews 

Of  expectation  chilled  and  fevered — all 

The  shaken  and  half  lifted  frame — declared 

i 
The  moment  of  the  oracle  had  come  ! 

A  sceptre  to  the  hand  of  Isis  leapt 

And  waved  ;  and  then  the  deep  voice  of  the  priest 

Uttered  the  maiden's  answer,  and  the  fall 

Of  many  quickened  steps  like  whispers  pass'd 

Along  the  columned  aisles  and  vestibule. 

None  deemed,  the  maiden  in  the  earthquake's  groan 

And  the  volcano's  thunder  voice  had  heard 

The  hastening  doom,  and  clothed  it  in  dark  words. 

The  blinded  victims  never  could  discern ; 

But  to  the  bosom  of  their  guilt  again 

They  passed,  dreaming  of  victories  and  spoils ! 

"  Gone  !"  said  the  priest,  descending — "  Serapis  ! 
Pardon  and  thanks  I  crave  ,and  give  thee,  God ! 
— Gone  to  their- phantom  banquet  with  glad  hearts- - 
Such  is  the  bliss  of  superstition's  creed ! 
And  they  will  glory  o'er  their  fellows  now, 
Deeming  themselves  the  temples  of  the  gods  ! 
Brimmed  with  revealings  of  divinity ! 
But  Folly  wafts  us  food,  and  we  should  laud 


108  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

s 

The  victim  of  night  visionrics  who  parts 
With  virgin  gold  for  fabled  miracles  ! 
But  that  thy  loveliness  might  peril  prayers 
And  change  the  rites  to  riots  ill  esteemed, 
Thou  shouldst  have  been  a  pythoness,  my  love ! 
What  shadow  veils  thy  vestal  brow  ?  thou  art 
My  bride,  and  pleasure  waits  upon  thee  here — 
Let  the  pure  wine  awake  thy  thoughts  to  mirth  !*' 

"  Mirth  at  the  altar  which  thou  mockst  with  jeers ! 
•  Mirth  in  thy  holy  ministries,  proud  priest ! 
It  fits  thee  not — and  less  thine  evil  speech 
To  Laslius'  child,  who,  while  her  father  waits 
On  royal  Titus  in  imperial  Rome, 
Betrayed,  it  seems,  by  thy  fit  parasites, 
Was  hither  borne  by  Pompeii's  maddened  throng, 
Whom  thy  vile  minions  goaded  to  the  deed, 
A  victim,  not  to  Isis,  but  to  thee  ! 
Beware,  thou  atheist  pontiff!  the  shocked  world 
Hath  had  and  shall,  through  uncreated  time, 
Have  mitred  scorners,  who  blaspheme  the  heavens. 
Mocking  the  faith  with  which  they  manacle 
The  hearts  that  would  deny  yet  dare  not— like 
Thee,  mocker  of  the  idol  thou  dost  serve  ! 
Yet  doubt  not — years  are  but  the  viewless  path 


€ANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  109 

Of  the  avenging  Deity  !  the  earth, 

Elysium,  Orcus,  the  sweet  pleiades, 

The  weeping  stars,  the  depths  of  ocean  swept 

By  typhon  tossing  billows  to  the  heavens — 

All  live  but  in  the  breath  of  one  Supreme, 

Whose  heart  inspires  the  universe — whose  soul 

Is  Immortality!  and  'neath  His  throne 

I  kneel  and  wrap  around  my  mortal  fears 

The  robe  of  His  immortal  purity, 

Bidding  thee,  Priest !  e'en  in  thy  purple  home. 

Tremble  amid  thy  thoughts  of  sacrilege  !" 

"  lo  Athena !  Pallas  hath  no  gift 
To  rival  thine,  my  loveliest !  thy  words, 
Like  pungent  herbs  before  the  banquet,  give 
A  charm,  a  flavor,  an  Apician  zest 
To  the  deferred  delight  that  dawns  in  tears. 
Coy  maidenhood !  the  sage  in  all  his  lore 
Must  learn  the  science  of  awaking  bliss 
From  thee,  supremely  skilled  in  scorpion  taunt 
And  torture,  which  prelude  long  lingering  bliss. 
But  the  wine  blushes,  Love !  to  meet  thy  lip — 
Lo  !  how  it  kisses  the  crowned  cup  and  smiles  ! 
Thou  wouldst  not  leave  me — though  thy  free  discourse 
Argues  but  ill — for  yon  dim  vaults,  greened  o'er 


110  THE    LAST    NIGHT  [c ANTO    II. 

By  the  dead  dampness,  where  cold  serpents  trail 

And  cockatrices  brood,  and  livid  asps 

Madden  with  unspent  poison  !  thou  hast  seen 

A  portion  of  the  terrors — 'tis  thy  choice 

To  dwell  with  love  and  luxury  and  joy, 

Or  have  a  farther  knowledge — come,  love  !  come  ! 

The  unfurrowed  features  of  a  priest  may  charm 

Thy  dainty  spirit  well  as  dead  men's  smiles 

Sardonic,  and  the  gleam  of  breathless  flesh ! 

Are  crimson  pillows  of  the  cygnet  down 

Less  fitting  thy  desire  than  jagged  rocks 

Beetling  o'er  naptha  fires  and  festered  floods? 

Or  yon  tapestried  couch,  thou  will  desert, 

Less  to  thy  wish  than  wanderings  through  the  aisles 

Of  haunted  charnel  labyrinths  beyond  ? 

Come,  thou  art  wiser !  Passion  is  my  god 

First  worshipped — next,  Revenge  ! — my  arms  are  chilled 

By  cold  embraces  of  the  goddess — come !" 

"  Demon !  thy  power  is  o'er  me — none  behold — 
The  banded  legions  could  not  rescue  me — 
Yet  1  scorn,  loathe,  dare,  trample  thee,  proud  priest ! 
What  art  thou  but  corrupted  clay  beneath 
The  furnace  ?  but  the  loathsome  bird  that  feasts 
On  desolation's  relics  ? — oh,  there  comes 


CANTO    II.]  OFPOMPEII.  Ill 

A  glad  sound  on  mine  ear — a  triumph  sound — 
The  deep  earth-hymn  of  ruin  !  hark  !  it  swirls 
Along  the  abysses  of  the  hills  and  seas, 
Lifting  the  mountains  with  its  breath — it  comes  ! 
Ye  manes  of  mine  ancestors  !  it  comes  !" 

• -t\iS','>  Yj.V/vifl*'-    •.''•l:M'r?  °fil   '\"ffi  b  *!J.*JfiflZ>8    !•  ' 

"  What,  scorner  !  dost  thou  think  to  cheat  my  skill 
With  thy  Trophonian  dreams,  when  I  have  clasped 
Delusions  to  my  bosom  since  my  birth  1 
And  juggled  faith  by  all  circean  arts  1 
I  woo  no  longer !  thou  art  in  my  grasp — 
And  by  the  Immortals  I  contemn  !  thou  shalt" — 

"  It  comes  !  the  temple  reels  and  crashes — Jove  ! 
I  thank  thee !  Vesta !  let  me  sleep  with  thee !" 
And  on  the  bosom  of  the  earthquake  rocked 
The  statues  and  the  pillars,  and  her  brain 
Whirled  with  the  earth's  convulsions,  as  the  maid 
Fell  by  a  trembling  image  and  upraised 
A  prayer  of  gratitude ;  while  through  the  vaults, 
In  fear  and  ghastly  horror,  fled  the  priest, 
Breathing  quick  curses  mid  his  warning  cries 
For  succor ;  and  the  obscene  birds  their  wings- 
Flapped  o'er  his  pallid  face,  and  reptiles  twined 
In  folds  of  knotted  venom  round  his  feet. 


THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 


Yet  on  he  rushed  —  the  blackened  walls  around 

Crashing  —  the  spectral  lights  hurled  hissing  down 

The  cold  green  waters  ;  and  thick  darkness  came 

To  bury  ruin  !     Through  the  arches  rent 

And  falling  on  he  hurried,  and  a  glance 

Of  sunlight  down  the  granite  stairway  came 

Like  a  winged  spirit  to  direct  him  on. 

The  secret  door  of  the  adytum  swung 

Wide,  and  he  hailed  the  flamens  that  above 

Hastened  his  flight  —  when  o'er  the  marble  stair 

The  Nubian  pillars  of  the  chancel  roof, 

Thrown  by  the  earthquake  o'er  the  altar,  crashed 

Through  shrines  of  gems  and  gold,  mosaic  floor 

And  beams  of  choicest  cedar,  and  around 

The  priest  of  Isis  piled  a  sepulchre 

Amid  the  trophies  of  his  temple,  where 

His  living  heart,  crushed  by  despairing  thoughts, 

Found  burial  till  the  hour  of  havoc  came  ! 

Buttress  and  "arch,  pillar  a,nd  image  fell, 
And  the  green  waters  of  the  gloom  were  filled 
With  hoarded  treasures  —  vainly  coffered  up. 
The  maiden  rose  upon  the  quaking  earth, 
And,  like  the  thoughts  of  parted  love  in  youth, 
Hushed  from  the  mitred  violator's  home, 


CANTO    II.]  OF     P  O  M  P  E  1 1.  113 

Through  the  felt  darkness  of  the  labyrinth. 

On  sculptured  capitals  and  heads  of  gods 

She  passed  the  dismal  waves,  and  trident  tongues 

Hissed  after  her  amid  the  turbid  foam. 

She  passed  the  beamless  corridors  and  fled 

Along  a  gorgeous  banquet  hall,  o'erstrewn 

With  porphyry  tables,  alabaster  lamps, 

Half  quenched,  and  shattered  wine  cups  of  gemm'd  gold. 

She  grasped  a  flickering  altar-light  and  on 

Hurried,  casting  on  dolesome  objects  round, 

And  nameless  things  of  horror,  glances  wild 

With  terror  and  deep  loathing ;  the  death-dews 

Upon  the  walls,  green  with  the  deadly  moss, 

Trailed  in  thick  streams,  and  o'er  her  sinking  heart 

Breathed  the  cold  midnight  of  the  sepulchre ; 

And  from  the  shapeless  shadows  growing  up, 

The  startled  spirit  wrought  the  forms  of  fiends, 

Or,  worse,  pursuers  charged  to  hale  her  back. 

,-lr  'v  ;''h^r/J:,;;teibd38oH 

The  virgin  flies  along  a  corridor 
Ampler,  and  living  with  the  daylight  air  ; 
And  far,  upon  its  boundary,  she  discerns 
An  open  portal,  and  a  rosebeam  gush 
Of  radiance  streams  upon  the  threshold  stone. 
Like  Delphi's  Pythia  in  her  maniac  mood, 

15 


114  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   II. 

She  leaves  the  vaults  of  Isis,  hurls  aside 

The  tissued  curtains  o'er  the  portal  hung, 

And  springs,  bewildered  yet  exulting,  through 

Voluptuous  chambers,  frescoed  o'er  with  scenes 

Of  earthly  Passion  in  its  last  excess, 

Where  the  mind  melts  in  odor,  and  the  heart 

Pants  in  the  fever  of  the  earthborn  Love. 

"  Oh  watching  Dian  !  whither  am  I  led  ? 

These  mellowed  lamps  that  burn  in  fragrant  nard — 

These  violet  couches — wanton  pictures — shrines 

Of  chrysolite  with  myrtle  wreaths  o'erhung, 

And  jewelled  girdles  loosened — what  is  this 

But  Paphian  Venus'  temple  ?  oh,  the  cells 

Of  Isis  are  elysium  to  the  bowers 

Of  Pompeii's  pandemic  queen !"     Away 

She  turned  to  hasten,  when  a  strangled  shriek 

From  the  recess  before  her  came,  and  sounds 

Of  fear  and  strife  and  hate  and  agony 

Rose  indistinct  yet  with  intensest  strength. 

The  maiden's  only  path  of  flight  lay  there. 

She  drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  with  hair 

Tangled  and  drenched  with  vault  dews,  haggard  face 

And  eyes  dilated,  like  a  sybil,  stood, 

A  moment,  in  the  very  bower  of  lust, 

Glaring  in  terror  on  two  forms  that  strove. 


CANTO    II  ]  o  F     1»  O  M  P  E  I  I.  115 

And  one  with  woman's  weakness ;  as  she  gazed, 

The  vanished  blood,  grief,  shame  and  failing  power 

Had  driven  to  the  fainting  heart,  came  back, 

And,  with  a  quick  renewal  of  lost  hope, 

Casting  the  other,  who  with  palsied  thought 

Gazed  on  the  fearful  visitor,  aside, 

The  feebler  being  rushed  along  the  aisles, 

With  ashen  face  and  raiment  soiled  and  torn. 

The  maiden  traced  the  fugitive,  and  ere 

The  blood,  now  at  the  heart,  might  reach  the  brow, 

They  stood  together  'neath  the  open  skies. 

"  The  Savior  for  thy  service  bless  thee,  maid  !" 

'Twas  Mariamne — from  the  loathed  embrace 

Of  Diomede  escaped — that  quickly  spake. 

"  1  cannot  ask  nor  answer  now — but  fly 

With  me,  for  peril's  look  proclaims  thee  pure ! 

Quick,  maiden !  Diomede  will  never  spare — 

Yet  Mariamne  once  again  is  free  ! 

It  should  be  noontide  ;  but  a  livid  gloom 

Palls  all  things,  and  a  ghastliness,  nor  beam 

Nor  blackness,  wraps  our  flight  and  bodes  an  eve 

The  workers  of  all  evil,  in  their  pride, 

Nor  dread  nor  dream  pf !  Pansa !  heaven  in  love 

Keep  thy  unfaltering  thoughts  beneath  the  wings 


116  THE     LAST     NIGHT 


Of  cherubim,  and  clothe  thy  heart  with  strength 
To  foil  the  fiend  that  dares  or  tempts  to  sin — 
Where'er  thou  art ! — we  shall  not  fail  to  meet, 
For  all  shall  be  abroad,  and  earth  and  skies 
And  waters  shall  commingle  ere  sun  sinks. 
Away  !  sweet  maiden  ! — now  the  Cyprian's  fane — 
The  equestrian  Forum — the  Praetorians'  tower — 
Are  passed ;  and  mid  the  crowded  huts,  that  lie 
Beneath  the  amphitheatre,  we  rest 
Till  the  deep  justice  of  JEHOVAH  comes  !'' 

"Art  thou  a  Heretic?"  the  maiden  said. 

"  1  was  a  Hebrew  and  a  princess — now 
I  am  a  Christian  and  a  captive  !  come — 
This  garb  and  guise  of  thine  declare,  methinks, 
Some  mysteries  of  thy  country's  deities — 
This  day,  thou  shalt  not  fail  to  learn  of  mine  !" 
She  breathed  a  strange  word  and  a  shrivelled  hand 
Unbarred  a  low  dark  postern,  and  a  face, 
Darkened  and  harrowed  by  the  toils  and  thoughts 
And  changes  of  exceeding  years,  looked  forth. 
The  melancholy  shadow  of  a  smile 
And  the  sad  echo  of  a  broken  voice 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  117 

Gave  welcome  to  the  wanderers ;  and  amid 
The  solemn  stillness  of  their  refuge  fell 
From  the  pale  lips  of  persecuted  faith 
Full  many  a  history  of  the  martyrdoms. 

The  games  of  life  go  on  !     Madness  and  mirth, 
Triumph  and  tears,  the  holydays  of  youth, 
The  apathy  of  stricken  age,  the  pride 
Of  intellect  and  prostrated  purposes, 
Rapture  and  anguish,  poverty  and  pomp, 
And  glory  and  the  tomb — like  rivals,  crowd 
Along  the  isthmus  of  our  being,  doomed 
To  vanish  momently  in  billowy  gloom  ! 
The  dewlight  of  the  morn  in  storm  departs ; 
The  moonbeams  strewing  rifted  clouds,  like  smiles 
Breathed  from  the  bosom  of  Divinity, 
Sink  ere  the  daybeam  in  the  tempest's  rack ; 
Yet  on  o'er  buried  centuries — the  dead  dust 
Of  ages — once  like  the  starred  heavens  inspired 
By  myriad  passions,  dreaming  miracles, 
And  winged  conceptions  infinite  as  air — 
Time,  the  triumpher,  in  his  trophied  car, 
Moves  sternly,  trampling  ardent  hearts  to  earth. 
Oh,  diademed  Hypocrisies  !  budding  Bliss, 
The  mildew  sears — sky-soaring  Hope,  that  dies 


118  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   II- 

In  its  birth  moment — Love,  which  on  its  shrine 
Of  incense  perishes — and  Fame,  that  drinks 
The  bane  of  human  breath  and  falls  alone  ! 
The  same  arena,  judges,  wrestlers,  crown — 
The  same  brief  transport  and  unsolaced  doom — 
First,  madness,  and  then  vanity — the  world 
Must  be,  till  time  is  quenched,  what  it  hath  been, 
The  bounded  circle  of  chained  thought,  trod  down 
By  nations  hastening  into  nothingness, 
Echoing  the  groans  of  Pain's  ten  thousand  years, 
And  drenched  by  tears  that  find  no  comforter ! 

With  livid  clouds  of  ashes,  lava  hail, 
And  furnace  cinders  all  the  air  was  filled ; 
And  through  the  bosom  of  Vesuvius  passed 
Groans  as  of  earth-gods  in  their  endless  death, 
And  giant  writhings,  crushing  the  earth's  heart ; 
And  through  the  tossing  vapors,  mingling  flame 
And  cavern  gloom,  toward  the  Evening  Isles 
So  loved  by  ancient  sage  and  patriot  bard, 
From  the  passed  zenith  rolled  the  gory  sun. 
Like  the  ailanthus  tree  of  old  Cathay, 
Whose  boughs,  hoar  legends  say,  bloom  in  the  stars, 
The  deep  smoke  of  o'erhanging  ruin  whirled 
From  the  volcano's  pinnacle,  and  flung 


CANTO    H.]  O  F     P  O  M  P  E  I  I.  Ill) 

Its  branches  over  nations,  scattering  death. 

The  Appenines,  looking  the  wild  wrath  and  awe 

Their  woods  and  precipices  took,  upraised 

Their  brows  of  terror  and  magnificence, 

On  their  eternal  thrones  watching  the  throes 

Of  the  convulsed  abysses ;  from  the  crags 

The  seared  and  shivering  forests  bent  and  moaned, 

As  o'er  them  flew  the  torrid  blast  of  fate ; 

And,  as  the  molten  rocks  and  mines  began 

To  pour  their  broad  deep  masses  from  the  height, 

Vast  trunks  of  cypress  and  of  cedar  stood 

Charred,  stark  and  trembling,  and  the  castelled  cliffs 

Burst  like  a  myriad  thunders,  while  the  flood 

Of  desolation,  o'er  their  crashing  wrecks, 

Tow'rd  Herculaneum,  gleaming  horror,  rolled. 

Yet  men  repented  not  of  foregone  crime, 
Denied  them  not  their  wonted  festivals, 
Their  pomp  of  garniture  and  banquet  mirth. 
Tornado,  pestilence,  earthquake  and  war, 
Awe  not  the  criminal  inured  to  guilt; 
So  the  barbed  poison  arrow  flies  his  heart, 
His  pageants  and  night  orgies  brighter  glow — 
Though  death  eighs  float  along  the  wine  cups  brimmed 
With  nectar  mocking  all  calamities. 


120  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

From  the  Basilicas  the  Praetor  passed, 
(Thither,  when  foiled  in  lust,  to  wreak  his  wrath 
On  guiltlessness  and  guilt  alike,  he  went) 
Leaving  his  tyrant  judgments,  in  a  voice 
Of  jeering  merriment  pronounced,  to  fall 
On  less  offending  breakers  of  the  law. 
Prostrate  upon  his  path,  a  mother  cried, 
"  Spare,  O  Proconsul !  spare  my  guiltless  child! 
He  walked  not  with  conspirators — spake  not 
To  leaders  of  sedition — spare  him,  judge ! 
He  hath  no  father — and  is  all  to  me  !" 

"  The  hordes  of  Haemus  may  learn  wisdom,  then, 
And  virtue  and  refinement  from  his  speech — 
For  he  is  banished — 1  reverse  no  doom  !" 
The  lictors'  fasces  o'er  the  supplicant 
In  haughty  scorn  went  on.     Another  voice 
Assailed  the  Prsstor:  "  To  a  cruel  lord 
The  quaestor  sold  my  husband  for  the  tax 
Ye  laid  upon  our  thatched  hut — and  he  groans 
In  bondage,  while  his  famished  children  die  !" 

"  Why  am  I  thus  benetted  on  my  way  ? 
I  serve  the  senate  and  inflict  their  laws. 
What  is  't  to  me  who  thralls  or  suffers  thrall  ? 
Let  him  atone !  Why  should  he  scorn  to  toil  ?' 


CANTO    II.]  OF     FOMPEII.  121 

"  Justice,  Lord  Governor  !"  a  third  implored. 
"  Thy  favorite  Vibius  hath  cast  deep  shame 
Upon  my  household  and  my  daughter's  wrongs 
Exact  redress  ;  not  more  than  this  from  Rome 
Banished  the  Tarquins  and  decemviri !" 

"  Ha !  dost  thou  threat,  Plebeian  ?  Vibius  hears 
Thy  fierce  arraignment  with  a  smile — no  doubt, 
Some  twilight  kisses  in  the  summer  glade — 
Pressed  palms — clasped  bosoms — dewy  lips — no  more ! 
And  thou  wouldst  mock  the  majesty  of  law, 
And  wed  thy  base  condition  with  the  blood 
Of  my  Patrician  friend !  away  with  thee  ! 
Methinks,  Vesuvian  fume  hath  filled  the  brains 
Of  all  the  city — and  the  boiling  earth 
Bubbled  its  yeast  into  your  grovelling  hearts. 
On,  Lictors  !  on — we  tarry  from  the  feast !" 

In  robes  of  white,  festooned  by  mingled  flowers, 
And  ivy  wreaths  or  crowns  of  amethyst, 
The  Prastor's  guests,  on  crimson  couches,  lay 
Around  the  ivory  tables,  on  which  stood 
A  silver  shrine  and  images  of  gods. 
Pictures — the  prodigies  of  perfect  skill — 
Hung  round  the  hall  of  banquet,  and  to  men, 
16 


122  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

The  imitators  of  divinities, 

Made  venial  every  vice.     In  plenitude 

Of  power  and  treachery,  their  holiest  Jove, 

Masked  to  dishonor  and  betray,  achieved 

Shame's  triumphs,  and  the  wanton  canvass  lived 

With  Mycon's  impure  thought  (31) ;  there  Bacchus  stood. 

Gloating  o'er  lozelries  and  revel  routs, 

As  Zeuxis  drew  the  king  of  catamites ; 

Venus,  the  earth-born,  mid  voluptuous  nymphs, 

Reclined  on  myrtle  beds  with  swimming  eyes, 

And  sunbeam  lips  with  morn  dews  moist,  and  swell 

Of  bosom  far  too  beautiful,  and  limbs 

Wantoning  mid  flowers,  that  veiled  them  not !  and  fame 

For  matchless  charm  of  genius  here  had  shrined 

Parrhasius'  name  !  and  Passion's  maddening  heart 

Burned  o'er  the  walls,  and  rival  statues  stood 

Beneath ;     and  there  the  last  wild  feast  was  held 

That  e'er  was  bought  by  Pompeii's  toil  and  tears. 

The  kneeling  slaves  in  goblets  wrought  from  gems 
Served  acrid  wine — on  gold  plate,  bitter  herbs 
To  zest  the  appetite  ;  and,  glancing  up 
His  haughty  eyes,  burning  with  hate  and  scorn. 
Chafed  Diomede  upon  his  vassals  flung 
The  venom  of  his  darkly  brooding  mind. 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  123 

"  Be  thy  locks  shorn  as  fits  thine  office,  slave ! 

Or  1  may  brand  the  theta  on  thy  brow  (32) 

Less  undefined,  and  make  the  dust  thy  food  ! 

Campanian  servitude,  methinks,  outgrows 

All  wantonness ; — and,  Midas  !  thou  art  skilled. 

I  hear  in  tintinnaculating  verse, 

And  lispest  snatches  of  philosophy  ! 

Be  master  of  thy  safety  !  I  may  lose 

A  pampered  slave  ere  long — or,  at  the  best, 

The  tintinnaculus  may  shame  thy  clink  !  (33) 

— Be  merry,  friends  ! — what  tidings  from  the  throne? 

Ye  have  beheld  the  Temple  of  the  Peace 

Filled  with  the  spoils  of  rebel  Jews,  where  all 

Treasure  their  gold  and  gems — a  trophied  fane  ! 

The  gorgeous  fabric  is  a  coffer!  Rome, 

The  mistress  of  earth's  glories  and  delights, 

Hath  few  rings  now  e'en  on  patrician  hands. 

What  think  ye,  then  ?  a  sackcloth  skeleton 

Wanders  and  mutters  on  the  Palatine 

That  what  he  calls  Jehovah's  wrath  will  burst, 

And  in  thick  blackness  bury  all  this  pomp, — 

Making  Earth's  Mistress  a  stark  mendicant !" 

Loud  laughed  the  parasites,  and  wanton  gibes 

Were  cast  on  Jew  and  Gentile ;  then  the  feast 

Of  rarest  luxuries  before  them  glowed, 


124  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO   II. 

And,  (bright  libations  poured  to  Vesta  first) 

The  beaded  wine  was  quaffed  from  goblets  brimm'd. 

"  Oh,  1  forget !"  said  Diomede,  the  light 

Of  the  delirious  revel  in  his  eyes, 

As  in  the  opal  radiance  of  the  cup 

They  glowed,  and  glanced,  with  an  exulting  pride, 

Midst  costliest  viands  from  the  mead  and  main — 

"  The  fairest  sport  awaits  us  ere  the  games  ! 

In  the  Campanian  legion  at  the  siege 

Of  that  black  Golgotha  the  traitors  called 

Jerusalem,  a  soldier  served  with  skill 

Whom  Titus  made  decurion :  him  the  plague 

Of  the  new  Heresy  and  Love,  at  once, 

Infected ;  and,  abandoning  the  host, 

He  sought  elysium  in  the  caverns  here, 

Till  Thraso  found  his  philosophic  haunt, 

Where  with  his  Hebrew  Paphian  he  was  wont 

In  hermit  guise  to  play  the  liberal. 

He  dies  to-day  ;  but  for  the  present  mirth 

His  tongue  may  vibrate. — Ho  ! — The  Nazarene  !" 

The  slaves  led  Pansa  from  the  portico 
Fettered  yet  fearless,  for  the  time  of  dread 
Had  passed  from  him,  and  in  his  hopeless  cell 
The  Paraclete  had  shadowed  o'er  his  soul 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  125 

And  panoplied  his  heart  to  dare  his  doom. 
Thus,  as  he  entered,  loud  the  Praetor  spake. 
"  Hail,  Gladiator  !  did  thy  felon  god, 
Thy  scourged  and  crucified  divinity 
Instruct  thee  in  the  sabre's  use  against 
The  shaggy  monarch  of  Numidian  hills  ? 
Art  thou  argute  and  apt  to  lunge  and  fence, 
Adroit  and  firm  of  nerve  to  meet  or  shun 
The  tusked  embrace  of  the  heroic  king  ? 
Lucania  and  Calabria  have  poured  out 
Their  thousands  to  behold  thy  feats  to-day  ; 
And,  gay  as  bridal  banquetters,  they  throng 
The  arcades  and  the  vomitories  now 
To  weep  the  Mauretanian's  martyrdom — 
For  thou,  no  doubt,  wilt  triumph  and  receive 
The  twice  ten  thousand  acclamations  sent 
To  honor  thy  proud  valor,  as  is  meet. 
Oh,  thou  shalt  be  anointed  like  thy  Christ, 
And  not  with  vulgar  nard  by  courtesans, 
But  ceroma  and  myron !  owest  thou  not 
Thanks  to  the  Roman  mercy  for  this  care  ?" 

"  A  Roman's  Mercy  !  every  spot  of  earth 
Your  banners  have  shed  plagues  on,  can  attest 
With  shrieks  what  mercy  Rome  has  given  earth. 


THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO   II. 


Yet  ye  shall  never  feel  the  love  ye  boast 
Until  the  slaves  ye  trample,  rack  and  slay, 
After  the  unanswered  vengeance  of  your  will, 
Shall  learn  that  they  are  human  and  awake 
To  imitate  the  mercy  of  their  lords  ! 
Perchance  —  'twas  in  thy  native  land  —  I  know 
Thee  and  thy  fathers,  Praetor  !  though  thou  sitst 
In  pride  of  judgment  now  —  thine  ancestors 
Were  suttlers  of  the  Carthagenian  camp, 
When  mine  called  freedom  to  the  sacred  Mount  ; 
Thou  mayst  have  heard  the  tale  of  Sicily, 
Or  read  that  Spartacus  withstood  the  hosts  —  " 

"  Ay,  traitor  and  apostate  !  ere  an  hour 
To  gnash  thy  perjured  tongue  !"  said  Diomede. 
Dreading  his  victim's  speech,  for  he  had  lived 
In  terror  of  the  knowledge  of  his  birth, 
Yet  foaming  curses.     "  Ay,  a  million  died 
"  In  fit  atonement  of  their  rebel  crime  ?" 

"  Crime  ?  that  the  name  of  Liberty  should  be 
The  burning  heart's  perpetuated  curse  ! 
Oh,  what  can  thrive  in  thraldom  but  revenge  ? 
The  thong,  the  goad,  the  brand  of  shame  —  the  sense 
Of  ignominy,  dreading  to  uplift 


CANTO   II.]  OF    POMPEII.  127 

Its  startled  eye — what  should  they  bring  ?  and  what 

Must  be  the  fruits  of  such  a  poison  tree  1 

Condition  is  but  chance,  and  none  are  born 

With  manacles  upon  their  limbs  !  most  crimes 

Corrupted  power  makes  such,  and  men  submit 

Because  their  vital  veins  have  wrapt  the  chain." 

"  Now  by  the  sceptred  Three  who  rule  the  shades ! 

Can  his  own  heretics  arraign  his  doom? 

Such  uttered  doctrines  would  convulse  the  world, 

And  even  here  shall  not  be  spoken — cease  I 

Thou  cursed  Christian  !  wouldst  thou  rouse  my  slaves  ?" 

"  No  realm  of  earth  is  slavery's — I  would  bid 
The  dust  be  spirit,  and  the  brute  be  man ! 
I  came  not  hither  by  my  will — I  am 
Thy  victim,  not  thy  vassal — and  if  Truth 
Offends,  command  thy  serfs  to  bear  me  hence ! 
But  here — and  in  the  arena — thought  and  speech 
Are  mine  ;  and  from  my  country  and  my  faith 
I  have  not  failed  to  learn  the  rights  of  man ! 
From  the  far  hour  when  vestal  Ilia  sinned 
And  suffered,  and  Rome's  walls  were  laid  in  blood, 
Have  human  hearts  had  peace,  whether  among 
Helvetian  icehills  or  the  Lybian  wastes  ? 
Conquest  was  born  of  carnage  and  the  spoil 


128  THE    LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   II. 

Of  kingdoms  to  a  hydra  faction  given, 

While  sybilline  revealments — Numa's  thoughts — 

With  old  religion  sanctified  the  deeds 

Of  desolaters  of  the  shuddering  earth. 

Scarce  e'en  for  hours  through  all  Rome's  centuries 

Hath  the  caduceus  met  the  eye  of  day,  (34) 

Or  the  ancilia  idle  in  the  fane 

Of  the  fiend-god,  whose  herald  is  despair, 

Hung :  but  far  gleaming  in  the  torrid  sun 

Mid  standards  floating  to  the  winds  of  heaven. 

On  all  the  earth  have  cast  the  plagues  of  hell. 

Boundless,  perpetual  and  almighty  Fear 

Hath  ever  been  your  God  of  gods — rocks,  caves, 

Woods,  grottoes,  lakes  and  mountains  are  the  realms 

Of  Dis  or  Jupiter's  elysian  fields. 

And  wisely  named  the  sophist  and  the  bard 

The  floods  of  fabled  Erebus — for  Rome 

Baptized  her  sons  in  Phlegethons  of  blood, 

Cheering  war  vigils  with  Cocyti  songs. 

Yon,  by  the  Tyrrhene  waters,  on  whose  shores 

The  banished  Scipio  died  in  solitude ; 

The  tyrant  raised  his  hundred  banquet  halls,  (3B) 

Tritoli's  stews  and  Baias's  palaces ; 

The  cannibal  patrician  daily  slew 

Captives  to  feed  the  lampreys  of  his  lake —  : 


«; \.\TO  ii.]  OF   POMPEII.  1 

And  Rome's  all-daring  Orator,  proscribed 
By  princely  friendship  in  his  peril,  'neath 
Antony's  vengeance  fell,  a  martyr — ;  there, 
The  astute  creators  of  your  creed  have  feigned 
Your  mortal  hell  and  heaven — in  Cumae's  caves, — 
(Where  dwelt  Deiphobe,  as  in  the  wilds 
That  skirt  the  Erythraean,  tasking  faith, 
Heirophila  abode  and  muttered  spells — ) 
And  Puteoli's  naptha  mines — amid 
The  beautiful  Pansylipo,  whose  waves 
And  woods  in  sweet  airs  and  fair  suns  rejoice  ; 
And  maniac  yells  of  gorgon  sybils  are 
Elysium  oracles,  and  Zephyr's  voice 
The  music  of  the  blest ;  and  loftiest  minds 
Worship  in  show  impostures  they  disdain, 
The  phantoms  of  the  fashion,  that  their  spoil 
May  be  the  richest  booty. — What  reck  they, 
The  masters  of  men's  minds,  who  guides  the  spheres  ? 
A  myriad  gods  or  none  to  them  are  one, 
For  all  are  nothing  but  fear's  phantasies. 
Sinnis  or  Sciron  less  obeyed  earth's  laws 
Than  they  the  edicts  of  almighty  Jove. 
The  proud  Aloides  taught  the  souls  of  such — 
They  would  quench  heaven  to  win  the  fame  of  earth. 
The  all-believing,  as  their  priests  ordain, 

17 


130  THE    LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

Adore  their  fiend  god  through  his  daughter. — Sin. 

Ye  know  not  Truth  in  fealty  or  faith — 

And  seas  of  lustral  waters  could  not  cleanse 

Your  tear  stained  and  blood  sprinkled  robes  of  guilt !" 

"  By  Hercules,  the  earth-cleaver  !  thy  bold  speech, 
Decurion  once  and  devil  caster  now ! 
Forebodes  disaster  to  my  king  of  beasts  !" 
Said  Diomede,  beneath  a  mocking  scorn 
Veiling  the  wrath  he  could  not  quell  nor  speak. 
"  Am  I  the  patron  of  thy  sole  renown  ? 
And  doth  thy  creed  teach  viper  thanklessness  ? 
I  do  immortalize  thy  robber  skill 
Learned  in  meet  skirmishes  with  vulture  flocks 
And  hordes  of  wolves  to  win  the  dead  man's  gold, 
And  in  Apollo's  image  to  the  knights 
Of  Latium  and  Apulia  thee  present. 
Thou  art  a  lion-darer,  and  needst  not 
The  famed  Lanista's  discipline  to  lift 
The  wood-king's  heart  upon  thy  sabre  point, 
For  thou  hast  learned  the  sleight  of  fence,  no  fear, 
From  Galilean  trainers,  and  hast  wrought, 
In  thy  maraudings,  miracles  of  skill !  - 
Rejoice  in  thine  ovation,  Nazarene  ! 
Thou  art  the  Sylla  of  the  games  to-day. 


CANTO    II. j  OF     P6MPEII.  131 

The  Samnite  mock-fight  and  the  chariot  race, 

Myrmillo  and  the  Gaul,  the  net  and  mail — 

All  shall  give  place  to  thee  and  Nubia's  beast. 

And  while  thy  glory  soars,  sweet  Venus  wraps 

Her  arms  around  thy  love,  and  sunset  melts 

On  the  pavilion  of  her  soft  delight, 

Where  she  doth  wanton  in  Love's  revelries, 

And  kisses  from  her  roselight  lips  reward 

My  service  in  the  honor  of  thy  name, 

And  fair  flowers  fan  the  glowing  cheek  of  bliss !" — 

"  Mock  on,  blood  drinker  !  Mariamne  mocks 
Thee  and  thy  wanton  minions,  whereso'er 
Beneath  the  Orcus  of  your  power  she  dwells. 
Seek  not  through  her  dominion  o'er  my  heart  f 
She  hears  a  voice  sweeter  than  Memnon's,  feigned 
To  breathe  daybreak  farewells  when  o'er  the  blue 
Of  lustrous  morn  Aurora's  gemlight  fled  ; 
She  feels  the  viewless  presence  of  her  God — 
Earth  has  no  power  upon  her  stainless  soul ! 
Therefore,  again,  I  tell  thee  Rome  shall  wail 
For  all  her  havocs,  treasons,  spoils  and  plagues. 
Oh,  every  empire  of  her  vast  domains 
Hath  its  aceldama,  where  voices  howl 
Anathemas  the  future  shall  fulfil.  :--  ** 


132  THB    LAST    MIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

/ 

All  power  is  venal  through  her  fated  realms. 

The  rebel's  Rubicon  o'ersweeps  the  land, 

And  all  its  waves  are  blood  !  proscription's  code, 

Taught  by  the  triumvir,  is  the  only  law 

Left  by  unanswering  Cassar  unannulled. 

How  many  ages  with  their  agonies 

Have  perished  since  the  people  had  a  choice 

Of  their  oppressors  ?     What's  the  ordeal,  now, 

Censors  and  consuls  must  endure  ?  and  where 

The  simple  wreath  that  stories  tested  deeds  ? 

All  the  sweet  shadowings  of  old  phantasie, 

The  enchantments  of  religion,  false  and  vain, 

But  glowing,  in  its  earliest  dreams,  with  love — 

Arion  and  the  dolphin,  Orpheus, 

And  hymning  groves,  and  awful  Dis  defied 

By  passion  in  bereavement,  daring  death, 

The  Sungod's  paeans  o'er  the  Cyclades, 

The  charmed  illusions  of  the  Blessed  Isles, 

The  mystery  and  rapture  of  high  thought. 

That  from  the  sacred  porticoes  and  banks 

Of  beautiful  Ilissus  poured  its  light 

O'er  Tyber  and  the  haunts  of  Tusculum— 

All,  now,  have  vanished — and  the  powers  of  air, 

Your  fathers  deemed  their  witnesses,  receive 

From  atheist  scoffers  of  the  time  defiled 


CANTO    II.]  OF    POMPEII.  133 

Derision ;  and  emasculated  vice 

Gloats  over  memories  e'en  Pan  might  loathe. 

— Breathe  not  a  hope  that  vengeance  will  forget ! 

A  darker  doom,  than  his  whose  savage  eyes 

Glared  from  the  marshes  of  Minturnse  (3S) — comes ; 

A  destiny  more  terrible  than  his 

Who  died  blaspheming  in  corruption's  arms, 

Shameless  in  shame,  at  Puteoli — lours  ! 

The  voice  of  judgment  hath  pronounced  on  sin 

Extinction — and  the  Avengers  are  abroad ! 

From  the  Ister  and  the  Rha,  the  storm-lashed  shores 

Of  the  Codanus  and  Verginian  sea — 

From  glacier  steep  and  torrid  crag — from  vale 

And  wilderness — city  and  waste — shall  rush 

Devourers  ;  and  a  thousand  years  shall  weep 

In  darkness  o'er  her  desolated  pomp, 

And  thousand  times  ten  thousand  vassal  hearts 

Live  without  love  and  die  without  regret, 

Boasting  their  bondage,  and  in  titles  won 

By  pandering  to  an  earth-fiend's  lust,  exult, 

And  call  their  shame  patrician  privilege  ! 

The  Goth  hath  trod  the  citadel ;  the  Gaul, 

The  Scythian  and  the  Vandal  and  the  Hun 

Shall  reap  the  harvest  of  her  ruin  !  Time 

Wafts  on  the  terrible  revenge — the  doom 


134  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

Challenged  by  centuries  of  guilt ! — I  hear 
The  tocsin  and  the  gong — the  clarion  blast, 
The  roar  of  savage  millions  in  their  wrath —     , 
Barbarian  yells  like  billows  broke  by  rocks — 
And  where  the  splendor  of  the  imperial  reign 
Floats  now — I  see  a  hoary  head  o'ercrowned  (3  8) 
By  the  three  diadems  of  earth,  hell,  heaven — 
And  the  bright  land  of  plenty  trod  by  bands 
Of  bandits,  famished  peasants,  coward  chiefs — 
All  of  Rome  buried  save  the  tyranny  !" 

"Oh,  thou  with  the  Cumaean  prophetess 
Hast  hiddenly  consorted  and  pored  on 
The  almagest  of  Ptolemy  till  stars 
And  meteors  have  become  the  ministers 
Of  thy  distempered  fashionings  of  fate  !" 
Sardonic  smiles  o'er  revel's  swollen  lips 
Passed  slowly,  and  the  Praetor's  jest  had  now 
E'en  from  the  venal  sycophants  small  praise  ; 
For  crime  in  common  natures,  once  unveiled, 
Startles  the  practiser,  and  fear  becomes 
His  hell,  o'ermastering  his  daunted  heart. 
"  And  thou  art  thrilled  by  the  sublime,  and  all 
The  grandeur  of  thy  destiny  o'ercomes 
Thy  sense  with  its  vast  radiance  !  yet  shrink  not, 


CANTO    II.]  OF     POMPEII.  135 

Though  thou  with  Epaphroditus  shalt  live, 
Empedocles  and  Barcochab,  in  fame,  (39) 
Drawn  in  a  prophet's  robes  and  mural  crown  ! 
My  own  embraces  shall  solace  the  grief 
Of  thy  rare  Hebrew  Venus,  though  thou  diest, 
And,  if  in  dungeon  thou  art  yet  reserved, 
A  conqueror  now,  to  grace  the  future  games, 
To  her  I  will  rehearse  the  tale  and  laud 
Thy  victory — and  'tis  hard  but  beauty  sheds 
A  guerdon  on  my  service  ! — Dost  thou  smile  ?'* 

"  Ay,  that  thou  talkst  of  future  games,  doomed  lord  ! 
And  utterest  thy  revenge  in  mockeries  ! 
Yon  sun,  mid  brazen  heavens  and  sulphur  clouds, 
Now  hastening  to  the  horizon,  ne'er  shall  rise 
On  the  volcano  cities  ;  palace  and  shrine, 
The  battlemented  fortress,  festive  dome, 
Palaestra,  amphitheatre  and  hall 
Of  judgment  wrested  to  the  despot's  ends — 
The  household  hearth- — the  stores  of  merchandise — 
And  many  a  lofty  impious  heart  shall  lie, 
Shrouded  and  sepulchred  in  seas  of  flame, 
Ere  morrow  breaks,  beneath  the  burning  deep. 
And  ages  shall  depart — and  meteors  glare, 
And  constellations  vanish  in  the  void 


13ti  THK     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    II. 

Of  the  pale  azure — and  a  thousand  times 
Earth's  generations  perish — ere  the  beams 
Of  morn  shall  light  the  cities  of  the  Dead ! 
Quaff,  feast,  sing,  laugh,  exult  and  mock  !  ye  eat 
The  Lectisternian  banquet  (4  °) — to  the  dead 
Pour  out  libations — gorge  the  appetite — 
Madden  the  brain — let  Phrygian  flutes  inspire 
Your  latest  joys — be  merry  with  the  storm 
That  howls  e'en  now  along  the  Fire- Mount's  depths  ! 
For  me,  the  martyr  trusts  his  martyred  God ! 
And  not  for  all  your  grandeur — nor  for  earth's, 
Would  he  partake  your  banquet  and  your  doom  !" 

"  Away  !  away  !  slaves  !  drag  the  traitor  hence  ! 
And  with  the  gladiators  in  the  cells 
Let  him  await  the  combat  of  the  beast ! 
My  spirit  wearies  of  his  raven  croak. 
— So,  now  for  better  mirth !  and  yet  the  shouts 
Of  hurrying  multitudes  unto  the  games 
Invoke  my  presence  and  the  dial  shades 
The  hour  of  carnage — do  ye  cry  for  blood  ? 
By  Jove  !  ye  shall  not  lack,  for  never  gazed 
Imperial  Nero  on  the  sea  of  flame, 
That  surged  along  the  shrieking  capitol, 
With  such  a  rapture  as  my  soul  shall  feel 


tANTO    II.]  OP     POMPEII. 

To  watch  the  lingering  agonies  and  breathe 

The  last  deep  death  sighs  and  slow  muttered  groans 

Of  that  accursed  despiser  of  my  power  ! 

Come,  friends  !  the  people  shall  be  pampered  now. 

One  cordial  cup  to  vengeance — then  away! 

The  chariot  races  wait  my  word — the  shouts 

Rise  like  the  roar  of  ocean  o'er  the  hills, 

And  in  the  ghastly  hell  light  of  the  mount, 

Beneath  whose  deeps  the  Titans  groan,  the  steeds 

Caparisoned  upon  the  towers  uprear 

Their  heads,  struggling  to  spring  upon  their  course  ; 

And  yon  vast  cloud  of  faces  through  the  gloom 

Looks  with  a  ruthlessness  that  fits  my  mood. — 

I  mount  the  Tribune  !  let  the  games  begin  !" 


OF  CANTO  ii. 


18 


bit/-.. 


THE  LAST  NIGHT  OF  FOMPEII. 


CANTO    III. 


'Tis  night  in  autumn,  and,  methinks,  the  clouds, 

That  waft  the  storms  of  equinox,  along 

The  sunset  seas  of  troubled  light,  uplift 

Their  countless  shapes  of  mystery  and  might, 

On  which  the  watcher  of  Endymion  now 

Not  e'en  a  glimpse  of  her  wan  beauty  casts, — 

As  erst,  they  rose  o'er  Athens,  when,  condemned 

By  all  profaneness  and  impure  desires, 

The  Titan  evils  of  a  rebel  time, 

The  Attic  sage,  (4 1 )  amid  the  sobbed  farewells 

Of  his  disciples,  drank  the  hemlock  cup. 

His  spirit,  for  his  birthage  and  the  men 

That  by  their  deeds  blasphemed  it,  all  too  pure, 

Shrined  in  its  sanctuary  thoughts  revealed 

Unto  no  other  in  dim  heathendom  ; 


HO  T  H  E     L  A  S  T     N  I  G  II  T  cANTO  III 


And  as  his  calm  benign  eyes  through  the  folds 
Of  the  earth  brooding  tempest  saw  the  realms 
Where  immortality  to  one  sole  GOD 
Hymned  anthems  in  felicity  of  love, 
He  blessed  the  few  who  dared  be  just  when  Hate, 
(Deferred,  till  from  the  holy  Delian  Isle, 
Which  neither  birth  nor  death  might  desecrate, 
The  pilgrim  barque  brought  the  Theori  home), 
Reigned,  amid  idols,  with  archdismon  power. 
Then,  with  the  gentle  sadness  of  the  good, 
His  soul  forgave  the  foes  that  wrought  his  fate,. 
Callias,  Anytus  and  the  viper  bard 
Famed  Aristophanes  —  and  prayed  in  peace  ! 
Thus,  casting  from  his  tried  and  weary  heart 
Sorrow  and  sin,  and  giving  back  to  eartli- 
The  passions  born  of  dust,  the  Martyr  Sage 
Ascended  unto  Being's  fountain  stream 
To  meet  the  mercy  he  so  greatly  gave, 

With  such  a  night  around  me,  let  me  tread, 
In  these  far  years,  his  path,  and  clothe  my  thought 
With  a  forbearing  patience  under  wrong, 
Neglect,  rebuke  and  ill  rewarded  toil, 
That  so,  like  the  aurelia,  1  may  rise 
From  dust,  and  be  a  winder  of  the  air  ! 


CANTO  III.]  OF     POMPEII,  141 

Bereavement's  lone  lamenting  tears  and  gleams 

Cast  from  the  memory  of  the  dead,  were  all 

The  rainbows  of  my  childhood  :  harsh  behest 

And  bitter  blame  begot  in  solitude 

The  mood  of  melancholy ;  shadowed  rills 

And  forests  mantled  with  fantastic  vines 

And  peaks  the  lightning  made  its  home,  became 

The  accustomed  haunts  of  boyhood  that  ne'er  knew 

Jn  bondage  the  free  sunny  thoughts  of  youth. 

(Hate's  serpent  tongue  hath  ever  on  me  shed 

Its  poison,  and  with  lidless  vigilance 

Storied  the  trials  of  the  fatherless 

In  the  dark  volume  of  its  deep  revenge.) 

Then,  with  but  one  in  all  the  world  to  love, 

I  burst  the  thraldom  of  my  orphan  days, 

And  wandered  forth  to  live  in  antique  lore ; 

Yet  anxious  present,  pale  remembrance,  clouds 

Prophetic  gloomed  along  the  deathless  page 

And  hoarded  in  my  heart  their  oracles. 

From  the  magnificence  of  power,  the  charm 

Of  poesy  and  visions  of  old  pomp, 

I  woke  to  feel  the  friendlessness  of  earth 

And  know  myself  a  homeless  pilgrim  here. 

Then  manhood  came ;  the  world  stirred  round  my  way, 

And  Time's  ambition,  eagle-eyed,  I  saw 

Was  man's  one  worshipped  idol,  yet  I  sought 


THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO  III. 


No  fellowship,  but  shunned  the  strife  that  sears 
Youth's  bosom  with  the  torch  that  guides  to  fame. 
Fame  !  'tis  the  dew-hour's  solitary  dream, 
The  sighed  breath  of  the  midnight,  heard  alone 
By  mocking  phantoms  whose  reply  is — death  ! 
Fame !  'tis  the  madness  of  consuming  thought, 
Toiling  in  tears,  aspiring  in  despair, 
That  steals  in  Love's  delirium,  o'er  the  brain. 
And,  while  it  buries  childhood's  purest  joys, 
Wakes  manhood's  dreamy  agonies  to  life  ! 
Fame  !  'tis  the  voice  of  sepulchres,  to  earth 
Uttering  the  praises  of  the  gone — the  hymn 
Of  the  dust  shrouded,  over  pale  decay, 
And  sounding  to  the  spheres  the  name  of  him 
Who  loved  unloved  and  trusted  traitor  hearts. 
Whose  bread  was  bitterness,  whose  years,  a  curse ! 
Fame !  'tis  the  sunbow  o'er  the  abyss  of  Time — 
A  glance  can  melt  it  into  showers  of  tears ! 
A  glacier,  hanging  from  a  shattered  peak — 
A  breath  can  bring  the  glittering  ruin  down ! 
A  dream  of  glory  with  the  seraphim — 
Death's  shadows  gather  round  it  in  the  dawn  ! 

Therefore,  I  sought  not  power  but  peace,  and  love 
Was  my  heart's  paradise — the  guiltless  home 


CANTO  III.]  OF     POMPEII.  143 

\ 

Of  all  my  Meandering  and  tumultuous  thoughts. 

But  that  was  blighted  by  the  breath  of  hate, 

And  the  relentless  perjuries  of  men 

O'erspread  the  mirrored  mind  with  tempest  clouds 

The  hues  of  morn  and  evelight,  virgin  buds 

Kissed  by  Aurora,  woods,  beneath  whose  wings 

The  fragrance  and  the  music  of  glad  life 

Breathed,  and  the  myriad  charms  that  solitude 

Folds  mid  the  throbs  of  its  deserted  heart, 

Yet  o'er  me  hold  dominion ;  but  the  light 

Of  their  first  beauty  and  the  tenderest  voice 

Of  Nature,  throned  in  holy  ministries, 

That,  in  my  earlier  days,  fell  on  my  soul 

Like  seraphim  revealings,  wear  not  now 

The  magic  loveliness  which  memory  feels. 

Torrents  of  wrongs  and  calumnies,  hurled  out 

From  the  Gehenna  of  revenge  to  fall 

Upon  the  Hinnom  of  the  world,  have  raised 

In  me  the  spirit  of  a  dreadless  scorn 

And  multiplied  contempt  of  human  thoughts, 

And  these  with  thee,  O  Nature !  mingle  not. 

But  time  hath  its  atonement  though  I  sink 

Beneath  the  burden  of  blaspheming  speech. 

And  die  beneath  the  Upas  in  my  youth : 

And  to  the  Avenger  of  far  ages  now 


144  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [c ANTO  III. 

I  do  devote  the  ruined  shrine,  and  raise 
The  incense  of  a  spirit  dimmed  by  tears, 
Yet  visited  in  loneliness  by  hymns 
Of  heaven  and  stars  of  glory  wandering  down* 

But  now  the  shadows  of  the  buried  move 
Around  me — beautiful  and  haughty  forms — 
Waked  from  the  sleep  of  centuries  to  endure, 
Again,  the  vanities  of  earth's  best  joys, 
The  certainties  of  evil — (mingl  restores 
The  dead) — and  havoc  cries  ascend  the  heavens 
From  Pompeii's  waiting  thousands,  while  the  groans 
Of  the  convulsed  volcano  answer  them. 
The  feeble  and  the  famishing  and  slaves, 
Whose  toil  a  thousand  years  cannot  reveal, 
Alone  are  seen  upon  the  public  ways ; 
And  every  face  is  chronicled  with  care, 
Loathing  the  lingering  lapse  of  wasted  breath, 
The  purposeless  continuance  of  low  toil 
And  want  and  thankless  servitude,  amid 
The  meshes  of  a  wan  and  dim  despair. 
All  else  find  pastime  in  the  savageness 
Of  games  where  smiles  and  shouts  are  bought  with  blood. 
Quaestor  and  aidile,  senator  and  knight, 
Censor  and  flamen,  vestal  and  courtesan. 


CANTO  HI.]  OF     POMPEII.  145 

Noble  and  commoner,  commingling,  meet 
Amid  the  portent  horrors  of  the  day, 
Whose  shuddering  light  to  Pompeii  bids  farewell, 
In  torture  to  seek  rapture,  in  the  pangs 
Of  gladiators  gored  and  Christians  gashed 
And  mangled  to  proclaim  their  ecstacies  ! 
The  dicer  in  the  midst  suspends  his  skill, 
Tested  by  spoil  wrung  from  the  heart  of  want, 
To  witness  and  applaud  the  guiltier  tests 
Of  science  ;  and  the  banqueter  forsakes 
The  wanton  wassail  of  the  flesh  to  seek 
The  richer  revel  of  the  bandit  mind. 
The  spotless  vestals  the  electric  fire 
Of  Vesta's  shrine  desert  and  through  their  veils 
Gaze,  from  the  podium  (*2)  of  patrician  pride, 
On  sinless  blood  poured  o'er  the  trampled  sand 
From  the  hot  veins  of  causeless  strife ;  the  judge 
Bears  from  the  Forum  the  remorseless  thoughts, 
Which,  petrified  by  usage,  have  become 
His  Nature,  never  thrilled  by  mercy's  voice. 
The  matron,  whom  dishonor  dares  not  name ; 
The  virgin  in  her  beauty  angel  pure  ; 
The  warrior,  who,  like  Blenhiem's  victor,  ne'er 
The  stategy  of  pale  retreat  had  learned 
In  the  swift  triumph  of  his  bannered  march  ; 

19 


146  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    HI. 

The  merchant,  whose  integrity  no  thought 

Assails  ;  the  poet  from  his  dreams  of  eld, 

Elfland  and  wizardy  and  fabled  gods  ; 

Sages,  by  their  disciples  canonized, 

Who  from  Saturnian  visions,  feigning  power 

Without  oppression  and  republics  stained 

By  no  corruptions,  bosomed  mid  the  bowers 

Of  the  Evening  Isles  or  Orcades — arise 

To  look  upon  the  agonistes'  face 

Imaging  hell,  and  with  the  Circus'  shouts 

Mingle  the  fiats  of  philosophy  !  (4  3) 

And  augurs  to  perfect  their  oracles 

Come  now  to  gaze  upon  the  cloven  heart 

And  watch  the  spasms  of  Nature's  utter  throes. 

And  Pompeii's  might  and  affluence  await 

The  Pra3tor's  voice,  and  the  vast  fabric  gleams 

With  million  glances  and  with  million  cries 

Echoes,  as  from  the  tribune  now  the  word 

Of  Power  commands — "  Lo !  let  the  games  begin !" 

Cheered  by  the  charioteers,  who  proudly  stand, 
Reining  their  fury,  round  the  battlement 
Rush  the  barbed  chargers,  like  the  samiel  cloud 
O'er  Zara  when  the  tropic  burns  with  death  ; 
And  breathless  watchers,  who,  upon  the  race, 
Risk  many  a  talent,  when  they  would  deny 


CANTO  III.]  OF     POMPEII,  147 

The  alms  of  one  poor  obolus  to  woe, 
Hang  waiting  sudden  triumph  or  despair. 
One  wins,  the  prelude  closes,  and  the  host, 
Like  winds  amid  a  wilderness  of  leaves, 
Sink  down  and  to  the  dread  arena  turn. 
The  trumpet  summons — awful  silence  floats 
Over  the  multitudes  who  fix  their  gaze 
Upon  the  portals  of  the  cells  beneath. 

They  open  and  the  gladiators  move 
Round  the  thronged  circle  to  display  their  forms 
Athlete  and  strong,  and  with  the  voice  of  death 
Salute  the  ruthless  Genius  of  the  Games.  (44) 
From  many  a  kingdom  thralled  they  come — from  realms 
Spoiled  by  the  locust  hordes  of  Rome ;  the  Gaul, 
The  Briton  and  the  Thracian  and  the  Frank, 
The  Wehrmanne  and  the  Hebrew  and  the  Celt, 
Every  clime's  vanquished — every  age's  wreck, 
All  codes  and  creeds,  strangers  or  friends,  contend 
Here  in  assassin  strife  to  please  their  lords. 
One  deep  wild  shout  like  breaking  billows  swells, 
Hailing  the  victims  of  the  carnage  fiend, 
And  on  the  sands  two  stalwart  forms  alone 
Remain  ;  and  now  Sigalion,  voiceless  god 
Of  Memphian  mysteries,  of  all  the  host 


148  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    HI. 

Seems  sovereign,  such  a  quivering  stillness  hangs 

Over  the  thousands,  who  await  the  fray 

With  eyes  electric  as  the  ether  fires, 

Lips  sealed  by  passion,  hearts,  like  lava,  still 

In  their  intensest  rapture  !     Bickering  swords 

Clash  quickly,  yet,  with  matchless  skill,  each  blow 

Or  thrust  falls  on  the  flashing  steel ;  and  long, 

With  fixed  eyes  dropping  not  their  folded  lids, 

And  marble  lips,  and  brows  whereon  the  veins 

Burn  like  the  storm  bolt  o'er  ice  pinnacles, 

And  heaving  bosoms,  naked  in  their  strength, 

And  limbs  in  every  attitude  of  grace 

And  power — they  struggle,  not  in  hope  of  fame, 

To  win  dominion,  or  achieve  revenge ; 

But  by  their  toil  and  agony  and  blood 

To  amuse  the  languid  masters  of  the  world. 

From  the  free  forest  where  he  walked  a  king. 

From  his  hearth's  altar  where  he  stood  a  priest, 

Hither,  in  manacles,  was  guiltless  man 

Dragged  for  a  mockery  and  gory  show  ! 

An  erring  glance — and  o'er  a  prostrate  form 

Of  beauty  stands  the  unrejoicing  foe, 

Sternly  receiving  from  the  merciless 

The  still  command  to  slay  !  and  now  he  lifts 

His  serried  sabre  purpled  to  the  hilt 


CANTO    III.]  OF     POMPEII.  149 

With  that  heart's  blood  he  might  have  deeply  loved  ! 
One  groan — a  gasp — a  shudder — and  a  soul 
Hath  gone  to  join  the  myriad  witnesses 
Who  in  the  winds  of  northern  wilds  invoke 
The  Desolators  to  avenge  their  doom. 

While  o'er  the  sands  they  drag  the  dead,  and  strew 
The  place  of  carnage  with  uncrimsoned  dust, 
Mirth  reigns  and  voices  mingle  everywhere, 
Lauding  the  skill  of  the  barbarian's  strife 
And  the  fine  anguish  of  the  dying  slave. 
Some  talk  of  Titus,  deeming  him  too  just 
And  mild  and  generous  while  conspiracy 
Mutters  Domitian  and  Locasta's  cup.  (4S) 
And  some  relate,  looking  upon  the  mount, 
Traditions  of  volcanoes  direr  far 
Than  aught  they  have  to  fear  in  latter  days  ; 
The  depths  of  mountains  boiling — valleys  filled 
With  o'erthrown  hills — and  islands  through  the  floods 
Of  ocean,  apparitions,  to  the  stars 
Casting  the  torrid  terrors  of  their  birth. 
Some  say,  the  Praetor,  when  the  lustrum  ends, 
Will  govern  Syria,  and  the  sage  surmise 
That  confiscation  in  Campania  bought 
The  Senate's  will  that  he  should  rule  the  east. 


150  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    III. 

Wine,  love,  the  dance,  war,  wealth,  ambition,  hate, 
Earthquake,  plague,  priesthood,  revel,  rival  sects 
In  faith  or  knowledge — yesterday's  delights, 
To-morrow's  deeds — each,  all,  in  various  speech, 
Absorb  the  mind  until  the  trumpet  sounds. 

Again,  scarce  breathing  stillness  falls — again 
The  gladiators  enter,  and  the  strife, 
Protracted  but  to  close  in  death,  goes  on. 
A  Briton,  from  the  land  of  Caradoc, 
Whose  daily  breath  had  been  Plinlimmon's  breeze, 
Beneath  the  weapon  of  the  Gaul  pours  out 
Blood  glowing  with  the  soul  of  liberty, 
And  dies,  to  Druid  altars  in  the  realm 
Of  Mona,  breathing  back  his  heart,  whose  voice 
Andraste,  (4  6)  in  her  home  of  vengeance,  hears. 
Triumphant  shouts  and  quick  expiring  shrieks, 
Dread  silence  and  hurrahs  and  agonies 
Succeed  each  mortal  fray  ;  and  oft  the  sands, 
Dabbled  by  gory  fingers,  trampled  o'er 
By  feet  that  fail  beneath  the  crushing  strength 
Of  the  grim  joyless  victors — are  fresh  strewn 
To  bury  blood  which  sunk  not  into  earth, 
But  from  beholding  heaven  drew  down  the  wrath 
That  made  almighty  Rome,  to  every  land, 


CANTO  HI.]  OF    POMPEII.  151 

A  curse,  a  mockery  and  a  shuddering  jest. 

"  Three  spirits  wander  by  the  spectre  stream  1 

Are  the  great  people  glutted  with  the  gore  ?" 

Said  Diomede,  for  Pansa's  trial  hour 

With  an  exulting  patience  waiting  long. 

"  Sound  for  the  Christians  and  the  desert  king  1 

It  darkens  hurriedly  and  lava  hail 

Hurtles  amid  the  ashes  !  we  may  rob 

The  God  of  Triumph  of  the  Apostates'  blood, 

Or  lose  the  rapture  of  their  agonies. 

Throw  wide  the  portals  1  let  the  Christians  come  1" 

The  mitred  ministers  of  idol  rites 
Came  on  in  bannered  pomp  and  conscious  power, 
Circling  the  arena ;  and  the  lictor  guard 
Followed  with  Pansa,  and  another  form 
That  shrunk  and  faltered  as  ten  thousand  eyes 
Searched  out  the  fear  that  harrowed  his  pale  heart. 
Slow  to  the  wail  of  Lydian  flutes  and  blast 
Of  clarions  breathing  death,  with  looks  of  awe 
Feigned  and  drooped  eyes  of  mystery,  around 
Moved  the  procession;  and  the  Pra?sul's  (*7)  gaze 
Wandered,  in  haughty  majesty,  along 
The  risen  and  revering  host  he  blessed. 
Few  think,  for  thought  is  born  of  pain,  and  night 


152  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO  HI. 

Hath  not  repose,  nor  day,  free  bliss  to  him 
Whose  spirit 's  rapt ;  yet  all  can  feel  and  fear, 
For  that  is  flesh — the  earth-born  shadows  cast 
Around  them  by  their  destinies  ;  and  they, 
Who  dwell  in  earth's  abundance  and  from  domes, 
Stately  and  glistering,  issue  to  receive 
Guerdons  of  gold  for  oracles  of  wrath, 
Illume  not,  save  with  fires  of  hell,  the  gloom 
That  curtains  the  black  portal  of  the  grave. 
Virtue  needs  no  interpreter,  and  vice, 
lake  palace  tombs,  mocks  its  own  turpitude, 
When  painted  o'er  with  saintly  imageries  ; 
But  Faith,  that  searches  not,  dreads  every  dream, 
Becoming  to  itself  a  hell,  and  seeks 
Heaven  through  the  pontiff,  who,  in  secret  doubt 
Of  joys  elysian,  craves  earth's  richest  gifts, 
And  at  his  votary's  phantom  banquet  smiles. 

Before  the  image — wrought  by  Phidias,  when 
His  faithless  country  unto  rival  realms 
Banished  his  genius — of  the  supreme  Jove, 
The  Praesul  paused,  and  with  adoring  zeal 
Cast  incense  on  the  altar ;  and  soft  wreaths 
Of  perfumed  vapor  round  the  eagle's  beak, 
The  lifted  sceptre  and  most  godlike  brow, 


CANTO    III.]  OF    POMPEII.  153 


(The  artist's  mind  was  the  sole  deity) 
Curled  as  in  homage,  and  one  blended  voice 
Burst  from  the  thousands — "Supreme  Jove  is  God!" 
Then  all  the  priests  from  every  fane  and  all 
The  accolytes  and  soldiers  incense  flung, 
And  the  proud  statue  proudly  seemed  to  smile. 
Next,  bent  and  trembling,  blind  and  dumb  with  fear, 
A  Christian  came  (from  noisome  catacombs 
Dragged  forth  to  prove  his  feebleness  of  faith,) — 
Like  the  great  Pisan  (4  8)  who  from  midnight  heavens 
Could  summon  the  eternal  stars  and  fill 
His  angel  spirit  with  their  glories,  yet 
Abjured,  in  fear,  before  his  bigot  foes, 
All  the  magnificence  of  thought,  and  knelt, 
A  hoar  apostate,  in  the  dust,  to  win 
The  lingering  torture  of  a  few  sad  hours, 
And  live — a  monument  of  mind  dethroned  ! 
Onward  he  came  with  tottering  childhood's  step, 
And  with  a  face  to  all  but  terror  dead. 
He  loved  the  light,  adored  the  truth,  yet  dared 
Meet  not  the  perils  it  revealed ;  and  now 
Unto  the  altar's  horns  he  clung  and  gasped 
His  panic  breath,  and  gazed  beseeching  round 
In  utter  horror's  wilderment,  and  groped 
Amid  the  shrine  lights  for  the  frankincense, 

20 


1 54  T  H  E    L  A  S  T    N  I  O  11  T  [CANTO  III. 

With  quivering  fingers  hurriedly ;  but  Fear 

Had  quenched  soul,  feeling,  sense — and,  as  his  hand 

Moved  o'er  the  porphyry  with  a  mindless  aim, 

And  the  wild  pantings  of  his  bosom  spread 

Hues  ghastlier  than  death's  along  his  cheek, 

A  stern  centurion,  with  a  frown  of  scorn 

And  sickened  pity,  from  the  censer  took 

The  idol  odor  and  upon  the  palm 

Of  the  apostate  threw  it  with  a  curse ; 

And  ere  the  lapse  of  thought,  his  worship  flashed 

On  the  stern  aspect  of  the  demon  god ! 

And,  onward  borne  triumphantly,  he  passed 

To  meet,  through  every  hour  of  haunted  time, 

Derision  for  denial  of  his  Lord ! 

Hate  on  his  brow  and  in  his  heart  revenge, 
(By  bigot  pride,  scorned  power  and  baffled  lust 
Engendered  like  the  serpent  on  the  waste) 
Diomede  glared  upon  the  lofty  form 
That  now  before  the  awful  statue  stood. 
No  pride,  lightening  defiance,  in  his  eye, 
Dared  the  despair  of  fortune  ;  no  wild  faith 
Waited  for  miracles  ;  but  there  he  stood, 
Beautiful  in  the  magnificence  of  Truth, 
Before  the  haughty  scorners  of  chained  beings, 
The  mightiest  and  most  merciless  of  earth. 


CANTO    HI.]  OP    POMPEII. 


His  thought  above  the  proudest  of  them  all, 

(For  Roman  mind  to  Christian  creed  was  wed) 

And  on  the  countless  eyes,  that  watched  him,  looked 

With  the  sublime  serenity  unknown 

To  natures  weak  or  terrible  as  hours 

And  their  events  decree.     No  joy,  no  pain, 

Changed  the  fixed  features  of  a  calm  resolve ; 

No  glance  betrayed  a  triumph  in  his  fate, 

Or  doubt  that  might  avert  his  martyrdom. 

Upon  the  still  crowd  rose  his  gentle  eyes 

Blue  and  translucent  as  the  heaven,  as  erst 

The  sungod,  gliding  up  the  glacier  steeps 

Of  Haemus,  o'er  the  tossed  Mgean  cast 

His  deathless  smile  among  the  Cyclades. 

Pure  in  his  faith  and  passionless  in  truth, 

He  never  sought  to  seal  with  agony 

The  creed  of  the  Anointed,  but,  instead, 

Shunned  Paynimrie's  resort  and  dwelt  in  wilds, 

Distrusting  the  infirmities  that  oft 

O'ersvvay  the  spirit ;  but  the  fated  hour 

Had  not  passed  by — the  one  deep  love,  that  chained 

His  heart  to  earth,  was  parted,  it  might  be 

To  welcome  him  to  paradise,  if  not, 

To  meet  his  welcome  there  ;  and  now,  beyond 

The  tyrant  passions  of  the  world,  he  stood 


THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   lit. 


To  rend  his  limbs  and  gnash  his  living  heart ! 

Impale  the  accursed  !  chain  him  within  the  fire  ! 

Saw  him  asunder  !  cast  his  viper  tongue 

Into  the  serpents'  den  to  poison  them !" 

Thus  thousands  shrieked — yet  now  the  shoutings  changed. 

"  Hark !  Jove  the  Avenger  answers  !  lo  !  the  heavens 

With  shuddering  clouds  are  filled  and  lightnings  leap 

Through  their  gored  bosoms  and  the  thunder  shaft 

Bickers  along  the  air — great  Jove  beholds 

And  hears — now  wither,  thou  blaspheming  slave !" 

Awed  yet  untrembling,  Pansa  calm  replied. 
"Ye  hear  no  thunder— but  Destruction's  howl ! 
Ye  see  no  lightning — but  the  lava  glare 
Of  desolation  sweeping  o'er  your  pride  ! 
Death  is  beneath,  around,  above,  within 
All  who  exult  to  inflict  it  on  my  heart, 
And  ye  must  meet  it,  fly  when,  where  ye  will, 
For  in  the  madness  of  your  cruelties 
Ye  have  delayed  till  every  hope  is  dead. 
Let  the  doom  come  !  our  faiths  will  soon  be  tried. 
Gigantic  spectres  from  their  shadowy  thrones, 
With  ghastly  smiles  to  welcome  ye,  arise. 
The  Pharaohs  and  Ptolemies  uplift 
Their  glimmering  sceptres  o'er  ye — bidding  all 


CANTO  III.]  OF    POMPEII.  159 

Bare  their  dark  bosoms  to  the  Omniscient  God : 

And  every  strange  and  horrid  mythos  waits 

To  fold  ye  in  the  terrors  of  its  dreams. 

— For  thee,  proud  Praetor  !  throned  on  human  hearts 

And  warded  by  thy  cohorts  from  the  arm 

Of  violated  virtue  and  spurned  Right, 

And  suffering's  madness — though  thy  regal  tomb 

Cepolline  proudly  stand,  thy  scattered  dust 

Shall  never  sleep  within  it ;  years  shall  fade 

And  nations  perish  and  ten  thousand  kings 

With  all  their  thrice  ten  thousand  victories 

Rest  in  oblivion,  and  the  very  earth 

Change  with  the  changes  of  her  children,  yet 

The  empty  mansion  of  thy  vain  renown 

Shall  stand  that  generations  unconceived 

May  ask  the  deeds  of  him  who  was  cast  out 

By  vengeance  from  his  fathers'  sepulchres !" 

"  Let  loose  the  wild  beasts  on  him !  why  are  we 
Thus  left  to  bear  the  traitor's  arrogance  ? 
The  convict's  scorn  ?  the  gladiator's  speech  ? 
Let  loose  the  only  foe  that  fits  his  faith ; 
The  Mauretanian's  arguments  are  meet 
And  suit  his  mystic  cabala.     Throw  wide 
The  cells  and  let  the  lion  make  reply." 


THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    lit. 


To  rend  his  limbs  and  gnash  his  living  heart ! 

Impale  the  accursed !  chain  him  within  the  fire  ! 

Saw  him  asunder  !  cast  his  viper  tongue 

Into  the  serpents'  den  to  poison  them!" 

Thus  thousands  shrieked — yet  now  the  shoutings  changed. 

"  Hark !  Jove  the  Avenger  answers  !  lo  !  the  heavens 

With  shuddering  clouds  are  filled  and  lightnings  leap 

Through  their  gored  bosoms  and  the  thunder  shaft 

Bickers  along  the  air — great  Jove  beholds 

And  hears — now  wither,  thou  blaspheming  slave !" 

Awed  yet  untrembling,  Pansa  calm  replied. 
"Ye  hear  no  thunder— but  Destruction's  howl ! 
Ye  see  no  lightning — but  the  lava  glare 
Of  desolation  sweeping  o'er  your  pride  ! 
Death  is  beneath,  around,  above,  within 
All  who  exult  to  inflict  it  on  my  heart, 
And  ye  must  meet  it,  fly  when,  where  ye  will, 
For  in  the  madness  of  your  cruelties 
Ye  have  delayed  till  every  hope  is  dead. 
Let  the  doom  come  !  our  faiths  will  soon  be  tried. 
Gigantic  spectres  from  their  shadowy  thrones, 
With  ghastly  smiles  to  welcome  ye,  arise. 
The  Pharaohs  and  Ptolemies  uplift 
Their  glimmering  sceptres  o'er  ye — bidding  all 


' 

CANTO  IU.]  OF    POMPEII.  159 

Bare  their  dark  bosoms  to  the  Omniscient  God : 

And  every  strange  and  horrid  mythos  waits 

To  fold  ye  in  the  terrors  of  its  dreams. 

— For  thee,  proud  Pra3tor  !  throned  on  human  hearts 

And  warded  by  thy  cohorts  from  the  arm 

Of  violated  virtue  and  spurned  Right, 

And  suffering's  madness — though  thy  regal  tomb 

Cepolline  proudly  stand,  thy  scattered  dust 

Shall  never  sleep  within  it ;  years  shall  fade 

And  nations  perish  and  ten  thousand  kings 

With  all  their  thrice  ten  thousand  victories 

Rest  in  oblivion,  and  the  very  earth 

Change  with  the  changes  of  her  children,  yet 

The  empty  mansion  of  thy  vain  renown 

Shall  stand  that  generations  unconceived 

May  ask  the  deeds  of  him  who  was  cast  out 

By  vengeance  from  his  fathers'  sepulchres !" 

"  Let  loose  the  wild  beasts  on  him !  why  are  we 
Thus  left  to  bear  the  traitor's  arrogance  ? 
The  convict's  scorn  ?  the  gladiator's  speech  ? 
Let  loose  the  only  foe  that  fits  his  faith ; 
The  Mauretanian's  arguments  are  meet 
And  suit  his  mystic  cabala.     Throw  wide 
The  cells  and  let  the  lion  make  reply." 


160  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    III. 

"  The  outer  corridors,"  the  Lanista  said, 
"Are  filled  with  ashes,  and  within  the  vaults 
Arches  have  fallen  and  no  power  can  ope 
The  portal  of  the  Atlas  beast,  my  lord !" 

"  Bring  a  ballista,  then,  and  shatter  it ! 
For  by  the  eternal  Fates  and  all  the  Gods ! 
This  darer  and  blasphemer  shall  not  scape. 
Let  none  depart !  why,  would  the  people  shun 
The  luxury  of  this  despiser's  pangs, 
Or  doth  his  airy  talk  infect  your  souls 
And  sway  your  thoughts  by  oracles  of  woe  ? 
Spare  Nazarenes  !  who  would  overturn  the  creed 
And  code  of  Home,  and  on  the  throne  of  earth 
Exalt  the  image  of  a  felon  God  ! 
Gather  your  wisdom,  men  ! — so,  dash  to  earth 
The  portal  and  goad  on  the  savage  king !" 

Still  by  Jove's  altar  standing,  Pansa  looked 
Upon  the  fluctuating  host  around, 
Some  with  fear  trembling,  some  with  baffled  hate, 
Some  silent  in  excess  of  passion,  some 
Most  earnest  to  behold  the  game  of  death, 
And  thus,  like  a  cathedral  knell,  he  spake. 
"  I  show  ye  mercy  none  will  show  to  me  ! 


CANTO    III.]  OF     POMPEII.  161 

Fly  !  ere  the  banners  of  the  galleys  wave 
Beyond  the  cape  !  fly,  ere  the  earth  and  air 
Become  the  hell  that  fiction  fables !  fly 
Ere  carnage  shrieks  amid  the  torrent  fire  ! 
For  me  't  is  nought — for  you,  't  is  all — away  !" 
Yet,  mocking  truth  and  justice,  all  from  flight 
Turned  back,  and  in  the  joy  of  shedded  blood 
Leaned  o'er  the  arena.     From  the  shattered  cell 
The  famished  lion  sprung,  with  coiling  mane 
And  fiendish  eyes  and  jaws  that  clashed  for  gore. 

"  Take  thy  sword,  Christian !  at  thy  foot  it  lies — 
And  let  the  heathen,  as  thou  callest  them,  mark 
And  laud  thy  skill  in  combat !  take  thy  sword !" 
A  demon  smile  convulsed  the  Praetor's  lip, 
Yet  Pansa,  in  the  deep  unshaken  voice 
Of  Truth's  immortal  sanctity  replied. 

"  The  Martyr  needs  no  weapon :  his  defence, 
Shield,  sabre,  helm,  spear,  banner,  all  are  one. 
A  breath  from  the  Eternal — a  quick  ray 
From  the  immortality  of  GOD — he  lives 
But  in  His  mercy,  dies  but  when  He  wills. 
— Thou  mightiest  monarch  of  the  forest  beasts ! 
Who  from  the  heights  of  Atlas,  on  the  brow 

21 


102  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    III. 

Of  perpendicular  precipice  alone 

Planting  thine  armed  foot,  hast  looked  o'er  sea 

And  waste,  fearing  no  equal :  or  among 

The  haunted  wrecks  of  Carthage,  in  the  pangs 

Of  hunger  ravening,  hast  found  no  food 

Where  a  great  nation  died  that  Rome  might  reign. 

Thou  fiercest  terror  of  the  wilderness  ! 

Who,  without  contest,  dost  consume  thy  foe, 

And  walkst  the  earth  a  conqueror  and  a  king  ! 

Upon  thee — though  the  extreme  of  famine  gnaws? 

Thy  vitals  now — and  thy  flesh  burns  with  stripes 

Given  to  madden  thee,  and  round  and  round 

With  Titan  limbs  thou  leapst  in  bitter  joy 

Of  human  banquet,  watching,  with  fierce  eyes, 

Terrible  as  is  the  simoom  of  thy  clime, 

The  moment  of  thy  certain  victory — 

Upon  thee  now  I  fix  the  eye,  whose  light 

Was  born  of  GOD'S  Eternity,  and  while 

Destruction  from  the  face  of  Deity 

Lours  o'er  creation,  I  do  bid  thee  kneel 

There  in  the  gory  dust !  ay,  by  the  Power 

Of  HIM  who  made  thee,  monster !  I  command." 

A  roar,  as  if  a  myriad  thunders  burst, 
Now  hurtled  o'er  the  heavens,  and  the  deep  earth 


CANTO    III.]  OF     POMPEII. 

Shuddered,  and  a  thick  storm  of  lava  hail 

Rushed  into  air  to  fall  upon  the  world. 

And  low  the  lion  cowered,  (4fl)  with  fearful  moans 

And  upturned  eyes  and  quivering  limbs  and  clutched 

The  gory  sand  instinctively  in  fear. 

The  very  soul  of  silence  died,  and  breath 

Through  the  ten  thousand  pallid  lips  unfelt 

Stole  from  the  stricken  bosoms  ;  and  there  stood 

With  face  uplifted  and  eyes  fixed  on  air, 

(Which  unto  him  was  thronged  with  angel  forms) 

The  Christian  —  waiting  the  high  will  of  heaven. 

••  'yijt  / 

A  wandering  sound  of  wailing  agony, 
A  cry  of  coming  horror  o'er  the  street 
Of  Tombs  arose,  and  all  the  lurid  air 
Echoed  the  shrieks  of  hopelessness  and  death. 
Then  through  the  gates  and  o'er  the  city  rushed 
A  ghastly  multitude,  naked  and  black 
With  sulphur  fumes  and  spotted  o'er  with  marl 
That  clung  unto  the  agonizing  flesh 
Like  a  wronged  orphan's  curse.     In  terror  blind, 
They  rushed,  in  dreadful  companies,  along 
The  solitary  Appian  Way,  and  e'er 
Their  awful  voices  howled  the  horrors  forth. 
'•  Destroyed  !  wrecked  in  its  beauty  —  all  destroyed  ! 


164  THE    LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO    III. 

Billows  of  lava  boil  above  the  towers 
Of  Herculaneum  !  we  alone  are  left ! 
The  lovely  city  !  all  our  happy  homes  ! 
Buried  in  blackness  'neath  a  sea  of  fire ! 
The  deluge  came  along  the  shattering  rocks — 
We  fled  and  met  another — yet  again 
We  turned  dismayed  and  a  third  fiery  flood 
Came  down  in  ruin's  grandeur  on  our  path ! 
Between  the  mountain  and  the  sea  we  scaped. 
Oh,  many  a  corse  beneath  the  depths  hath  mixed 
With  the  consumed,  consuming  clay,  and  lo ! 
A  Solfatara  c&r  our  city  rolls, 
Boiling  in  deeps  of  blackness  !  on — away  ! 
What  fated  madness  holds  the  death-games  now  ? 
Rise,  Pompeii !  fly,  the  Fates  delay  not  here  !" 
Down  to  the  dark  convulsive  sea  they  rushed, 
O'er  them  the  volcano,  and  beneath, 
The  earthquake,  and  around,  ruin  and  death. 

"  Hear  ye  not  now  ?"  said  Pansa.     "  Death  is  here  ! 
Ye  saw  the  avalanche  of  fire  descend 
Vesuvian  steeps,  and  in  its  giant  strength 
Sweep  on  to  Herculaneum  ;  and  ye  cried, 
"  It  threats  not  us,  why  should  we  lose  the  sport  ? 
Though  thousands  perish,  why  should  we  refrain  ?" 


CANTO    III.]  OF    POMPEII.  165 

Your  sister  city — the  most  beautiful — 
Gasps  in  the  burning  ocean — from  her  domes 
Fly  the  survivers  of  her  people,  driven 
Before  the  torrent  floods  of  molten  earth 
With  desolation  red — and  o'er  her  grave 
Unearthly  voices  raise  the  heart's  last  cries — 
"  Fly,  fly  !  O  horror  !  O  my  son  !  my  sire  !" 
The  hoarse  shouts  multiply  ;  without  the  mount 
Are  agony  and  death — within,  such  rage 
Of  fossil  fire  as  man  may  not  behold ! 
Hark  !  the  Destroyer  slumbers  not — and  now, 
Be  your  theologies  but  true,  your  Jove, 
Mid  all  his  thunders,  would  shrink  back  aghast, 
Listening  the  horrors  of  the  Titans'  strife. 
The  lion  trembles ;  will  ye  have  my  blood  ? 
Or  flee  ere  Herculaneum's  fate  is  yours  ?" 

Vesuvius  answered:  from  its  pinnacles 
Clouds  of  far-flashing  cinders,  lava  showers, 
And  seas,  drank  up  by  the  abyss  of  fire 
To  be  hurled  forth  in  boiling  cataracts, 
Like  midnight  mountains,  wrapt  in  lightnings,  fell. 
Oh,  then,  the  love  of  life !  the  struggling  rush, 
The  crushing  conflict  of  escape  !  few,  brief, 
And  dire  the  words  delirious  fear  spake  now — 


166  THE    LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    III. 

One  thought,  one  action  swayed  the  tossing  crowd. 

All  through  the  vomitories  madly  sprung, 

And  mass  on  mass  of  trembling  beings  pressed, 

Gasping  and  goading,  with  the  savageness 

That  is  the  child  of  danger,  like  the  waves 

Charybdis  from  his  jagged  rocks  throws  down, 

Mingled  by  fury — warring  in  their  foam. 

Some  swooned  and  were  trod  down  by  legion  feet ; 

Some  cried  for  mercy  to  the  unanswering  gods ; 

Some  shrieked  for  parted  friends  for  ever  lost ; 

And  some,  in  passion's  chaos,  with  the  yells 

Of  desperation  did  blaspheme  the  heavens ; 

And  some  were  still  in  utterness  of  woe. 

Yet  all  toiled  on  in  trembling  waves  of  life 

Along  the  subterranean  corridors. 

Moments  were  centuries  of  doubt  and  dread  ; 

Each  breathing  obstacle  a  hated  thing : 

Each  trampled  wretch,  a  footstool  to  o'erlook 

The  foremost  multitudes  ;  and  terror,  now,. 

Begat  in  all  a  maniac  ruthlessness, 

For  in  the  madness  of  their  agonies 

Strong  men  cast  down  the  feeble  who  delayed 

Their  flight,  and  maidens  on  the  stones  were  crushed. 

And  mothers  maddened  when  the  warrior's  heel 

Passed  o'er  the  faces  of  their  sons !  The  throng 


CANTO   III.]  OF    POMPEII.  1<*7 

Pressed  on,  and  in  the  ampler  arcades  now 

Beheld,  as  floods  of  human  life  rolled  by, 

The  perfect  terrors  of  the  destined  hour. 

In  gory  vapors  the  great  sun  went  down ; 

The  broad  dark  sea  heaved  like  the  dying  heart, 

'Tween  earth  and  heaven  hovering  o'er  the  grave, 

And  moaned  through  all  its  waters ;  every  dome 

And  temple,  charred  and  choked  with  ceaseless  showers 

Of  suffocating  cinders,  seemed  the  home 

Of  the  triumphant  desolator  Death. 

One  dreadful  glance  sufficed — and  to  the  sea, 

Like  Lybian  winds,  breathing  despair,  they  fled. 

Nature's  quick  instinct,  in  most  savage  beasts, 
Prophecies  danger  ere  man's  thought  awakes, 
And  shrinks  in  fear  from  common  savageness, 
Made  gentle  by  its  terror ;  thus,  o'erawed 
E'en  in  his  famine's  fury  by  a  Power 
Brute  beings  more  than  human  ofl  adore, 
The  Lion  lay,  his  quivering  paws  outspread, 
His  white  teeth  gnashing,  till  the  crushing  throngs 
Had  passed  the  corridors  ;  then,  glaring  up 
His  eyes  imbued  with  samiel  light,  he  saw 
The  crags  and  forests  of  the  Appenines 
Gleaming  far  off,  and  with  the  exulting  sense 


168  THE     LAST     NIGHT 

Of  home  and  lone  dominion,  at  a  bound, 
He  leapt  the  lofty  palisades  and  sprung 
Along  the  spiral  passages,  with  howls 
Of  horror  through  the  flying  multitudes 
Flying  to  seek  his  lonely  mountain  lair. 


From  every  cell  shrieks  burst ;  hyaenas  cried 
Like  lost  child  stricken  in  its  loneliness  : 
The  giant  elephant  with  matchless  strength 
Struggled  against  the  portal  of  his  tomb, 
And  groaned  and  panted ;  and  the  leopard's  yell 
And  tyger's  growl  with  all  surrounding  cries 
Of  human  horror  mingled ;  and  in  air, 
Spotting  the  lurid  heavens  and  waiting  prey, 
The  evil  birds  of  carnage  hung  and  watched, 
As  ravening  heirs  watch  o'er  the  miser's  couch. 
All  awful  sounds  of  heaven  and  earth  met  now ; 
Darkness  behind  the  sungod's  chariot  rolled, 
Shrouding  destruction,  save  when  volcan  fires 
Lifted  the  folds  to  gaze  on  agony  ; 
And  when  a  moment's  terrible  repose 
Fell  on  the  deep  convulsions,  all  could  hear 
The  toppling  cliffs  explode  and  crash  below, 
While  multitudinous  waters  from  the  sea 
In  whirlpools  through  the  channelled  mountain  rocks 


CANTO  III.]  OF     POMPEII.  169 

Hushed,  and,  with  hisses  like  the  damned's  speech, 
Fell  in  the  mighty  furnace  of  the  mount. 

Tyrant  not  dastard,  daring  in  his  guilt 
And  fearless  of  its  issues,  Diomede 
Frowned  on  the  panic  flight  and  in  his  wrath 
Man,  earth  and  heaven,  demons  and  gods  defied. 
"  The  craven  people — e'en  my  very  slaves 
Have  fled  as  dust-born  vassals  ever  flee, 
And  I  am  left  alone  with  marble  gods 
And  howling  savageness,  mid  showers  of  flame. 
Gods  !  I  trust  not  elysium  feigned  by  them 
Who  make  the  earth  a  very  mock  of  hell. 
Ay,  roar,  yell,  struggle  till  your  fierce  hearts  burst ! 
And  with  thy  thousand  thunders  shake  the  throne 
Of  Jove,  Vesuvius  !  and  the  world  confound ! 
I  have  not  loved  nor  sought  the  love  of  man. 
And  higher  than  his  nature  I  know  not. 
Nor  lower  ;  and  alone  1  sit  to  laugh 
At  mortal  fear  and  dare  immortal  hate, 
For,  if  aught  die  not,  't  is  revenge  and  pain." 

•'  Hath  memory  wed  with  madness  that  thou  sayst 
'  Alone,'  proud  Praetor  ?  one  yet  looks  on  Jove 
And  sees  no  deity  ;  one  yet  awaits 

22 


170  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    III. 

The  pleasure  of  Campania's  haughty  lord. 
The  hour  and  scene  fit  well  the  deadly  fight, 
Yet  I  behold  no  foe ;  what  wouldst  thou  more  ?" 
Pansa  stood  motionless  and  spake  in  scorn. 

"  Thou  damned  Nazarene  !  the  imperial  law 
Shall  forge  new  fetters  for  thy  treacheries, 
Thy  necromancies  and  apostate  deeds. 
Meantime  exult,  thank,  praise  and  bless  thy  God, 
Convict  redeemer,  buried  deity, 
That  my  condition  fits  not  contest  now 
With  thine,  or  wolves  should  ravine  on  thy  limbs 
And  eagles'  talons  bear  to  mountain  cliffs 
Thy  heart  yet  quivering  with  the  pulse  of  .fear. 
Some  fiendish  potence  foils  me  now ;  again 
Thou  shalt  not  win  fire-fiends  unto  thy  aid : 
Yet,  Pompeii  shall  acclaim  thine  agonies — 
Again,  thou  shalt  not  scape  though  hell  arise  !" 

"  Again  we  shall  not  meet  in  all  the  realms 
Of  universal  being — all  the  hours 
That  linger  on  eternity !  we  part 
For  ever  now,  each  to  his  deathless  doom. 
But  had  not  other  creed  than  vengeance  filled 
A  Roman's  mind  with  mercy,  words  like  thine. 


CANTO  III.]  OF     POMPEII.  171 

Now  thy  praetorians  leave  us  twain,  the  one 

With  all  to  lose,  the  other,  all  to  gain, 

Would  bring  a  direr  parting  hour,  howe'er 

Thy  Punic  blood  and  Volscian  pride  revolt. 

Oh,  thou  mayst  scoff!  thou  wouldst  outdare  the  fiends 

And  mock  in  Orcus  sin's  undying  moans ; 

But  here  we  part,  proud  victim !  so,  farewell ! 

JEHOVAH'S  wrath  is  o'er  thee — o'er  us  all — 

The  shocked  earth  cries  unto  the  blackened  heavens, 

The  mighty  heart  of  earthly  being  bursts. 

And  thou  shalt  quickly  know  what  Hebrew  awe 

Trembled  to  hear,  El  Shaddai — 't  is  a  name 

The  phantoms  ye  adore  and  curse  have  borne 

Vainly — yon  mount  is  its  interpreter — 

THE  ALMIGHTY  looks  in  lightning  from  His  throne. 

Jove's  shrine  is  covered  with  the  lava  shower, 

The  ashes  gather  round  me !  oh,  farewell !" 

Through  deepening  cinders,  tossing  sulphur  clouds, 
And  victims  shrieking  in  their  agonies, 
The  Praetor  sought  his  way.     His  harnessed  steeds 
Maddened  by  fear,  had  with  his  chariot  flown, 
The  charioteer  had  perished  'neath  the  wheels : 
And  haughtily  through  all  the  Appian  Way, 
Among  the  whirlpool  waves  of  human  life, 


THE     I,  AST     NIG  II  T  [CANTO    III. 


And  lighted  by  destruction's  breath  of  flame, 

He  struggled  tow'rd  his  palace,  to  the  wrath 

Of  heaven  fronting  defiance,  e'en  while  Death 

Dwelt  in  the  bosom  of  all  elements 

And  the  world  trembled  !  hastening  to  his  dome, 

Of  power  in  Syrian  splendors  and  a  fame 

Immortal  as  the  flatterer's  pander  verse, 

He  dreamed  ;  and  bearing  to  the  vaulted  crypt, 

Whose  labyrinths  wandered  far  beneath  the  hills, 

His  gold  and  gems,  he  on  his  household  closed 

The  marble  door,  deeming  their  safety  won, 

Whose  strangled  death  cries  rose  unheard  —  whose  bones 

The  daily  sunlight  of  a  thousand  years 

Ne'er  visited  beneath  the  deeps  of  death. 

Pansa,  meantime,  in  gladiator  guise, 
By  other  paths  had  hurried  from  the  scene, 
And  now  beneath  the  skies,  where  billowy  clouds 
Rolled  in  the  awful  volcan  light,  beheld 
The  fabric  of  destruction  vast  and  lone. 
Vesuvius  poured  its  deluge  forth,  the  sea 
Shuddered  and  sent  unearthly  voices  up, 
The  isles  of  beauty,  by  the  fire  and  surge 
Shaken  and  withered,  on  the  troubled  waves 
Looked  down  like  spirits  blasted;  and  the  land 


CANTO    III.]  OF     POMPEII.  173 

Of  Italy's  once  paradise  became 

The  home  of  ruin — vineyard,  grove  and  bower, 

Tree,  shrub,  fruit,  blossom — love,  life,  light  and  hope, 

All  vanishing  beneath  the  fossil  flood 

And  storm  of  ashes  from  the  cloven  brow 

Of  the  dread  mountain  hurled  in  horror  down. 

The  echoes  of  ten  thousand  agonies 

Arose  from  mount  and  shore,  and  some  looked  back 

Cursing,  and  more  bewailing  as  they  fled, 

With  glowing  marl  or  ashes  on  their  heads. 

•'  Thou  one  great  Spirit  of  all  being!  here, 
Where  power  is  helplessness  and  hope,  a  dream, 
Here  in  the  horror  of  the  havoc,  breathe 
Thy  smile  upon  my  soul,  and  time  and  death, 
With  all  their  anguish,  shall  o'erawe  me  not !" 
Imploring  thus,  the  Christian  held  his  way 
Through  the  wild  scene,  with  undefined  impulse, 
Nor  shunning  death,  nor  daring  it,  but  filled 
With  emanations  of  undying  faith. 

A  voice,  whose  tones,  like  music  heard  when  youth 
Lives  in  the  visions  of  the  blue  blest  heaven, 
Thrilled  the  quick  heart  of  Pansa,  from  the  gloom 
Of  a  lone  street  came  forth,  and  bended  forms 


174  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    III. 

Stole  from  the  hutted  refuge  of  despair, 

And  tow'rd  the  Appian  by  the  Forum  fled. 

And  through  the  night  the  voice  of  age  went  up.  (5  °) 

"  Tarry  not,  daughter  !  for  these  aged  limbs, 
Dust  they  soon  must  be — though  the  world  revered — 
And,  if  my  hour  be  come,  the  woe  is  past. 
But  hasten,  daughter  !  moments  have  become 
Ages — the  air,  the  earth,  the  ocean  blend 
Their  agonizing  energies — away  ! 
Beneath  the  o'erhung  rocks — where  fishers  wont 
To  moor  their  boats,  now  stranded  on  the  beach, 
The  pinnace  lies  I  spake  of — and  the  word 
Is  Marcion !     Thither,  without  let  or  fear, 
Hasten:  a  Christian  from  Tergeste  (SI)  holds 
Command,  and  ere  an  hour  its  oars  and  sails 
Shall  waft  you  far  from  ruin  round  us  now." 

"  Nay,  father  !  to  the  shadow  of  your  roof 
I  hurried  when  the  violater's  wrath 
Burned  o'er  me — and  thine  own  familiar  fears 
Denied  me  not  a  refuge  !  we  shall  sleep 
Mid  fire  together  or  together  flee. 
Yet  more — no  barque  shall  bear  me  from  the  beach 
Till  the  last  hope  expires  that  from  his  bonds 


CANTO  III.]  OF    POMPEII.  175 

Pansa  may  burst  to  bear  us  company. 
Perchance,  among  the  fugitives,  e'en  now 
He  flies,  and  wanders  by  the  ocean  marge''- 

On  through  the  death-storm  the  Decurion  sprung. 
"  No,  Mariamne  !  my  beloved  restored  ! 
Here,  in  the -home  of  desolation,  here, 
I  fold  thee  spotless  to  my  happy  heart ! 
And  find  my  paradise  in  ruin's  arms  ! 
But  here  we  pause  not  to  pour  out  our  souls. 
A  pinnace  lies  beneath  the  cliffs,  sayst  thou  ? 
Thy  hoary  wisdom  hath  redeemed  us,  sage ! 
Stay  thy  weak  limbs  upon  my  strength  !  on  !  on  ! 
I  snatched  the  slaughtered  gladiator's  helm — 
Cast  o'er  your  heads  your  mantles — so,  away  !" 

Down  the  steep  path  unto  the  moaning  sea 
They  passed  with  quickened  steps,  and  upward  glanced 
The  maiden  of  the  vaults  of  Isis,  once, 
Eyes  floating  in  the  farewell  tears  of  love, 
As  by  the  black  and  desolated  home 
Of  all  her  childhood's  innocence  and  bliss, 
They  fled  like  shades  and  to  the  ramparts  came, 
Upon  them,  by  the  fiend-light  full  revealed, 
Wandered  the  hoary  idol  priest  of  Jove 


176  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO  III. 

In  maniac  horror  ;  and  amidst  the  roar, 
The  riot  and  the  wreck  of  earth  and  heaven, 
Thus  rose  his  awful  voice  in  prophecies. 

THE   VISION   OF   THE   FLAMEN. 

Call  in  thy  cohorts,  Rome !  from  every  land 

Thy  power  hath  deluged  with  unsinning  blood  ! 
Call  in  thy  legions  from  Iberia's  strand, 

From  Albion's  rocks,  and  Rhsetia  s  mountain  wood  ! 
The  foe,  like  glaciers  hurled 
Through  clouds  of  lightning  on  the  world, 
Springs  from  his  forest  in  the  wildest  north, 

Scenting  his  prey  afar : 
And,  like  the  samiel,  from  the  waste  comes  forth 

To  steep  your  glories  in  the  gore  of  war. 
Hark  !  the  whole  earth  rejoices  ! 

Sea  shouts  to  isle  and  mountain  unto  main, 

And  ocean  to  the  heaven,  with  myriad  voices — 

Rome's  sepulchre  shall  be  amid  her  slain, 
And  as  she  spared  not,  none  shall  spare  her  now. 

But  Hun,  Goth,  Vandal,  Alemanne  and  Frank 

Shall  lift  the  poison  cup  all  earth  hath  drank. 
And  steep  her  shuddering  lips,  and  on  her  brow 

Pour  blood  for  ointment,  and  upon  her  head. 

Till  thousand  ages  have  in  darkness  fled. 


CANTO    III.]  OP     P  O  M  P  E  I  I.  177 

Mocking,  press  down 
The  accursed  crown 

Which  shall  not  cease  to  bleed  as  conquered  men  have 
bled !" 

Thy  monarchs,  slaves  to  every  lust  and  crime,  ' 

Shall  fall  as  they  have  fallen  by  the  sword 
Or  Colchian  chalice,  and  unweeping  time 
O'erthrow  the  deities  by  dust  adored, 
And  leave  but  ruin  to  lament 
O'er  pillar,  shrine  and  battlement, 
And  solitude  o'er  desert  realms  to  moan, 
Where  warriors  mocked  chained  kings  and  called  the 

world  their  own ! 
The  coal  black  petrel  and  the  grey  curlew 

Shall  wing  thy  waters  and  see  not  thy  sail ; 
Prom  trembling  towers  the  stork  shall  watch  the  blue 
Of  the  lone  heavens  and  hear  no  human  hail : 

For  in  the  vales  that  bask  in  bloom, 
The  Pontine's  flowers,  the  bright  Maremma's  greet*. 
Shall  dwell  the  shadow  of  the  tomb, 

Ag.  ?*• 

In  Love's  voluptuous  arms,  the  tyrant  death  unseen  ! 

And  Nero's  golden  house  shall  be 
The  pallid  serf's  abode, 

And  tombs  imperial,  soaring  from  the  sea, 
23 


178  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO   III. 

Shall  guide  the  corsair  through  his  night  of  blood. 
Despair  with  folded  wings, 

Where  the  Eagle's  pinions  hung, 
Shall  cower  beneath  the  throne  of  kings, 

Who  o'er  the  Alps  the  curse  of  hell  have  flung. 

Woe  to  the  beautiful  !  the  barbarian  comes  ! 

Woe  to  the  proud  !  the  peasant  lays  thee  low  ! 
Woe  to  the  mighty  !  o'er  your  kingly  domes 

The  savage  banner  soars — the  watchfires  glow ; 
Triumph  and  terror  through  the  forum  rush, 

Art's  trophies  vanish — learning's  holy  lore, — 
Alaric  banquets  while  red  torrents  gush, 

Attila  slumbers  on  his  couch  of  gore  ! 
And  there  the  eye  of  Ruin  roams 

O'er  guilt  and  grief  and  desolation ; 
And  there  above  a  thousand  homes 

The  voice  of  Ruin  mourns  a  buried  nation. 
Buried,  O  Rome  !  not  like  Campania's  cities, 

To  wake  in  beauty  when  the  centuries  flee, 
But  in  the  vice  and  coward  shame  none  pities, 

The  living  grave  of  guilt  and  agony  ! 
Alas  !  for  Glory  that  must  close  in  gloom ! 

Alas  !  for  Pride  that  loves  the  tyrant's  scorn ! 

Alas  !  for  Fame  that  from  the  Scipios'  tomb 


CANTO  III.]  OF     POMPEII.        :>  179 

Rises  to  look  on  infamy  and  mourn ! 
But  Vengeance,  wandering  long, 
With  many  a  battle  hymn  and  funeral  song, 
Shakes  Fear's  pale  slumber  from  earth's  awestruck  eyes, 
And  bids  Sarmatia's  hordes  redeem  her  agonies ! 

Yet  not  alone  the  civic  wreath,  >•  /.  '* 

The  conqueror's  laurel,  the  triumpher's  pride 
Shall  wither  'neath  the  samiel  eye  of  Death ; 

On  Rome's  old  mount  of  glory  shall  abide, 
Tiar'd  and  robed  like  the  Orient's  vainest  kings, 

The  hoar  de voter  of  earth's  diadems  ;  (52) 
His  glance  shall  haunt  the  heart's  imaginings — 

His  footfall  shall  be  felt  where  misers  hoard  their  gems ! 
And  from  the  palace  of  the  Sacred  Hill 

The  thrice  crown'd  pontiff  shall  to  earth  dispense 
The  awful  edict  of  his  mighty  will, 

And  reign  o'er  mind  in  Fear's  magnificence. 
Prince,  peasant,  bandit,  slave  shall  bow 

Beneath  his  throne  in  voiceless  adoration, 
And  years  of  crime  redeem  by  one  wrung  vow ; 

And  age  on  age  shall  die — arid  many  a  nation 
Sink  in  the  shadow  of  the  tyrant's  frown 
And  disappear. 
Without  a  song  or  tear, 


1 80  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO  III. 

While  clarion'd  conquerors  tread 

In  hymned  triumph  o'er  the  dead ; 

And  wild  barbarian  hordes, 

Whose  faith  and  fealty  glitter  with  their  swords, 

Shall  feel  the  mellowing  breath  of  human  love, 
And  dwell  entranced  amid  romance  and  lore ; 

Yet  from  the  awful  Vatican  no  dove 
Shall  bear  freewill  to  any  earthly  shore  ! 

But  he,  the  Rock  amid  the  ruins  old 
Of  mythologic  temples,  shall  o'ersway 

The  very  Earth,  till  thrones  and  kingdoms  sold 
And  empires  blasted  in  the  blaze  of  day — 

Awake  the  world — and  from  the  human  heart 
The  crushing  mountain  of  Oppression  cast : 

Then  man  shall  bid  all  tyrannies  depart, 
And  from  the  blue  blest  heavens  elysium  dawn  at  last !" 

"How  like  the  gusty  moans  of  tempest  nights 
O'er  the  broad  winter  wilderness,  that  voice 
Ascends  ;  and  what  a  horrid  gleam  is  flung 
Along  that  face  of  madness,  as  it  turns 
From  sea  to  mountain,  and  the  wild  eyes  burn 
With  revelations  of  the  unborn  time  ! 
We  may  not  linger — shelter  earth  denies — 

The  very  heavens  like  a  gehenna  lour — 

c  ,' 


III.]  OF     POMPEII. 


And  ocean  is  our  refuge  —  on  —  on  —  on  ! 

Yet  hark  !  the  wildest  shriek  of  death  !  and  lo  ! 

The  priest  falls  gasping  from  the  ramparts  now  — 

The  breath  of  oracles  upon  his  lips, 

The  Future's  knowledge  in  his  dying  heart. 

He  reels  —  pants  —  gazes  on  the  sulphur  light  — 

(How  like  the  glare  of  hell  it  wraps  his  form  !) 

Expiring,  mutters  woe  —  and  falls  to  sleep 

Shroudless  in  the  red  burial  of  the  doomed  ! 

On  to  the  ocean  !  and,  far  o'er  its  waves, 

To  Rhffitia's  home   of  glaciers  —  if  GOD  wills  — 

Look  not  behind  !  a  moment  gains  the  shore  !" 

So  Pansa  cried  and  windlike  was  their  flight. 

The  pinnace  cleaves  the  waters  ;  heaving,  black 
And  desolate,  the  dismal  billows  groan 
And  swell  the  dirges  of  the  earth  and  sky. 
Upon  the  bosom  of  the  sea,  the  barque 
Sweeps  on  in  darkness,  save  when  furnace  light 
Flares  o'er  the  upturned  floods  ;  and  now  they  pass 
The  promontory's  cliffs,  and  o'er  the  deeps 
Fly  like  a  midnight  vision.  —  Frbm  the  shores 
Voices  in  terror  cry,  and  countless  shapes 
Now  in  the  lava  blaze  appear  —  and  now 
Vanish  in  the  fell  night,  and,  far  away, 


182  THE    LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   III. 

Pliny's  lone  galleys,  dimly  from  their  prows 
Casting  their  watchlights  through  the  fitful  gloom, 
Hear  not  the  implorings  of  the  fugitives. 

THE  DEATH-CRIES  OF  POMPEII. 

FIRST    VOICE. 

Hear  us  !  oh.  hear  us  !  will  no  God  reply  ? 

No  ear  of  mercy  open  to  our  prayer  ? 
Hath  utter  vengeance  throned  the  accursed  sky  ? 

And  must  we  perish  in  this  wild  despair  ? 
Hear  us  !  oh,  hear  us  !  will  no  mortal  hand 

Succor  in  horror — pity  in  our  dread  ? 
Woe  !  Desolation  sweeps  o'er  all  the  land ! 

Woe !  woe !  earth  trembles  'neath  the  Death-King's  tread! 

SECOND    VOICE. 

Oh,  Fear  and  Gloom  and  Madness  are  around, 

And  hope  from  earth  is  vain ; 
The  sky  is  blackness — waves  of  fire,  the  ground — 
And  every's  bosom's  breath — the  pulse  of  pain. 
Yet  let  us  not  deny, 
In  shuddering  nature's  agony, 
The  universal  and  immortal  King  ! 
But,  rather,  while  we  gasp, 

". 

Our  dying  children  closer  clasp,  [spring  ! 

And  pass,  with  them,  the  wave  where  blossoms  deathless 

' 


CANTO  HI.]  OF     POMPEII.  183 


THIRD  VOICE. 

Who  bids  us  sink  resigned  ? 
Who  bids  us  bless  the  Slayer  ? 

And  mid  the  storm  of  ruin,  blind, 

Scorched — blasted — dying — breathe  again  the  spurned- 
back  prayer  ? 

Let  the  Creator  in  his  vengeance  take 
The  life  he  heaped  on  men — 

No  sigh — no  voice — no  tear  shall  slake 
The  almighty  hatred  that  could  thus  condemn  f 

He  made  us  but  to  die — 
To  die  yet  see  our  city's  burial  first — 

And  he  shall  feast  upon  no  wailing  cry 
From  me : — take  what  thy  wrath  has  cursed  ! 

I  yet  have  power  to  hate  and  scorn  the  might 
That  strews  the  earth  with  dead  in  Desolation's  night  i 

FOURTH  VOICE. 

Blaspheme  not  in  thine  anguish ! 

We  may  not  hope  to  linger, — 
Yet,  quickly  quenched,  we  shalr not  moan  and  languish 

In  wan  disease — emaciating  pain — 
And  living  death — when  e'en  an  infant  finger 

Would  be  a  burden !  oh,  the  fiery  rain 


184  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CAMTO  III 

Comes  down  and  withers  and  consumes 

The  mighty  and  the  weak, 
And  not  a  voice  from  out  yon  horrid  glooms. 

That  shroud  the  Sarnus  and  the  sea 
Replies  to  hearts  that  break 

In  agony. 
Yet  shut  not  out  the  hope  elysian, 

And  fold  not  darkness  to  thy  breast ! — 
— My  babe  !  oh,  sweet,  most  blest  and  briefest  vision  I 

As  at  thy  birthhour,  here's  thy  home  of  rest — 
My  bosom  was  thy  pillow — 't  is  thy  tomb — 

It  gave  thee  life — and,  in  thine  early  death, 
Thy  latest  throbs  to  mine — 

— Oh,  like  harp  thrillings  in  thy  bliss  and  bloom. 
While  o'er  my  face  stole  soft  thy  odorous  breath. 

They  touched  my  spirit  with  a  joy  divine! — 
Thy  latest  throbs  shall  be 

The  warning  that  shall  waft 
My  soul  up  through  the  starr'd  infinity, 

E'en  where  the  nectar  cup  is  by  the  Immortals  quafPd. 


VOICE. 
| 

And  must  we  die? 
In  being's  brightness  and  the  bloom  of  thought ! 

Sepulchred  beneath  a  sunless  sky  ! 
And  all  the  spirit's  godlike  powers  be — nought ! 


CANTO    III.]  OF     POMPEII.  185 

Wail  o'er  thy  doom,  fair  boy ! 
Shriek  thy  last  sorrow,  maiden  !  for  the  doom, 

That  o'er  earth's  tearless  joy 
RoJIs  gory  mid  the  shadows  of  the  tomb ! 

The  tomb  !  there  shall  be  none 
Save  dark-red  shroudings  of  the  lava  sea — 

The  fire  shall  quench  the  agonizing  groan — 
Moments  become — eternity! 

And  must  we  perish  so  ? 
Sink,  shuddering,  thus  and  gasp  our  breath  in  flame? 

And  o'er  our  unremembered  burial  flow 
The  pomps  and  pageants  of  a  worthless  name  ? 

At  wonted  feasts,  no  vjoices  shall  salute — 
In  temple  hymns,  no  soul-breathed  strain  awake 

Our  memories  from  the  realms  for  ever  mute — 
But  o'er  our  graves  barbarian  kings  shall  slake 

Their  demon  thirst  of  gore- — 
And  redcross  slayers  march  in  bandit  ranks, 

From  Alp  and  sea  and  shore, 

To  stain  the  Asian  sands  with  hordes  of  slaughtered 
Franks ! 

Wail  for  the  joy  that  never  more  shall  breathe ! 
Wail  for  the  lore  and  love,  the  bloom  and  bliss 

That  to  the  ocean  world  of  fire  bequeathe 
Their  paradise  of  hope !  and  this 

24 


186  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO  III 

Must  be  our  only  trust— to  quickly  die  — 
And  leave  the  pleasant  things  of  earth  behind : 

Through  thousand  ages  unremembered  lie 
Unknown  to  sunbeam  smile  or  breath  of  summer  wind !" 

DIOMEDE,  (rushing  in.) 

"  Away !  bewailers  of  decrees  that  bring 

Rest  to  the  grief  and  restlessness  of  earth ! 
Away  !  pale  tremblers  mid  the  dawn  of  spring 

That  o'er  the  winter  of  your  fate  comes  forth ! 
What  are  your  woes  to  his, 

Who  from  the  throne  of  power  beheld  the  glory — 
Ambition's  grandeur,  pleasure's  bliss, 

Gleam  on  the  Syrian  towers  like  gods  in  minstrel  story  ? 
Gone  !  gone !  why,  see  ye  not  the  eyes 

Of  hell's  own  Furies  glaring  through  the  flame  ? 
And  hear  ye  not  the  wild,  deep,  dreadful  cries 

That  call  in  curses  on  the  Avenger's  name  ? 
No  barque  to  bear  us  o'er  the  sea ! 

No  refuge  on  the  mountain's  breast ! 
Earth,  time,  and  hope  like  unblest  shadows  flee, 

And  death  and  darkness  pall  our  everlasting  rest ! 

'."•  -.''  •;  m   'i'1 

What  spectre  sail  sweeps  yon  ? 
Now  in  the  black  night  buried — now  upon 


CANTO  III.]  OF     POMPEII. 

The  billow  in  the  horrid  light  careering/ 
Like  a  spirit  that  hath  passed 
The  glacier  and  the  Lybian  blast, 

It  feels  not  human  fearing  ! 
It  flies  toward  the  promontory  now— 
The  torrent  fire  of  ruin  hangs  above — 
And  earthly  forms  are  standing  by  the  prow, 

Clasped  in  the  arms  of  love  ! 
O  Hell  of  Thought !  and  must  I — in  the  fame 

Of  sumless  wealth  and  power — sink  down  and  die, 
And,  helpless,  hopeless,  leave  the  Praetor's  name 

To  moulder  with  the  herd's  beneath 

The  mountain  monument  of  death, 

And  be  a  doubt,  or  mock  and  scorn 

To  fierce  barbarians,  yet  unborn, 
When  in  the  spoiler's  lust,  they  seek  the  Italian  sky  ? 

Ay,  curse  the  gods  who  in  their  hate  created 

The  serpent  death  that  gnaws  your  core  of  life ! 
E'en  in  your  childhood's  beauty,  ye  were  fated 
To  writhe,  howl,  shudder,  perish  in  the  strife 
Of  elemental  agonies, 

As  were  your  sires  by  ghastly  wan  disease  ; 
And  wrath,  shame,  guilt,  despair,  remorse  and  pain, 
Their  heritage  and  testament,  have  swept 


188  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO  III. 

Your  hearts  as  vultures  sweep  the  battle  plain ! 
Then  by  the  tears  unpitied  grief  hath  wept, 

By  lone  bereavement's  wail, 
And  Evil's  dark  ovations, 

Bid  universal  Ruin  hail ! 
And  swell  Death's  monarch  march  o'er  buried  nations ! 

For  me — as  fits  the  Roman  lord, 

When  hopeless  peril  darkens  on  his  way, 
I  crave  no  lingering  tortures  with  the  horde 

Who  gasp  and  grovel  in  the  slave's  dismay, 
And  to  the  sick  and  sulphurous  air, 

Where  Gloom  and  Fire  and  Horror  dwell, 
Pour  out  to  fiction's  gods  the  unheard  prayer, 

And  seek  in  clouds  a  heaven,  to  find  on  earth  a  hell ! 
Thou  one  Omnipotent  DESPAIR  ! 

Whose  shadow  awes  the  prostrate  world, 
Thou  kingly  Queller  of  lamenting  care  ! 

Oblivion's  voiceless  home  prepare, 
And  let  Extinction's  lightning  bolt  be  hurled ! 

Banished,  yet  dauntless,  doomed  but  undismayed, 
Least  willing,  yet  without  a  groan  or  sigh, 

I  go — dark  Nemesis  !  thou  art  obeyed  ! 
Thou  awful  Cliff!  the  billow's  funeral  cry 


CANTO  III.]  OF     POMPEII  189 


Thrills  through  my  quickened  sense, 

That  feels  with  life  intense. 
Yet,  ere  a  moment's  lapse,  this  soul  shall  sleep — 
This  form,  a  sweltering  corse,  beneath  the  unsounded 
deep !" 

Thus  to  the  proud  heart's  last  throb  breathing  out 
Defiance  and  blaspheming  wrath — though  wrecked 
And  ruined,  hurling  his  terrific  thoughts 
Of  baffled  vengeance  to  the  shuddering  heavens — 
A  monumental  Memnon,  sending  up 
Death's  music  to  the  burning  hills  of  death — 
Upon  the  extremest  edge  of  awful  cliffs, 
That  beetled  o'er  the  blackened  billows  now 
Howling  their  dirges  o'er  the  expected  dead, 
The  haughty  Praetor  stood  alone,  and  flung 
His  agonizing  spirit's  deadliest  glance, 
The  farewell  execrating  look  of  pride, 
Unquenched  by  horror,  unsubdued  by  death, 
O'er  hill,  shore,  forest,  ocean — earth  and  heaven  ; 
Then,  towering  like  a  rebel  demigod, 
And  to  the  fierce  volcano  turning  quick 
His  brow  of  fearful  beauty,  while  his  lips 
Curved  with  convulsive  curses,  o'er  the  rocks — 
Down — down  the  void,  black  depths,  like  a  bann'd  star, 


190  THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   III. 

(That  tosses  through  the  universe,  a  hell,) 

Or  demon  from  a  meteor  mountain's  brow, 

He  plunged  and  o'er  him  curled  the  shivering  floods ! 

Meantime,  charred  corses  in  one  sepulchre 
Of  withering  ashes  lay,  and  voices  rose, 
Fewer  and  fainter,  and,  each  moment,  groans 
Were  hushed,  and  dead  babes  on  dead  bosoms  lay, 
And  lips  were  blasted  into  breathlessness 
Ere  the  death  kiss  was  given,  and  spirits  passed 
The  ebbless,  dark,  mysterious  waves,  where  dreams 
Hover  and  pulses  throb  and  many  a  brain 
Swims  wild  with  terrible  desires  to  know 
The  destinies  of  worlds  that  lie  beyond. 
The  thick  air  panted  as  in  nature's  death, 
And  every  breath  was  anguish  ;  every  face 
Was  terror's  image,  where  the  soul  looked  forth, 
As  looked,  sometimes,  far  on  the  edge  of  heaven, 
A  momentary  star  the  tempest  palled. 
From  ghastlier  lips  now  rose  a  wilder  voice, 
As  from  a  ruined  sanctuary's  gloom, 
Like  savage  winds  from  the  Chorasmian  waste 
Rushing,  with  sobs  and  suffocating  screams  : 
And  thus  the  last  despair  had  utterance. 


CANTO  HI.]  OP    POMPEII.  101 

SIXTH  VOICE. 

"  It  bursts  !  it  bursts  !  and  thousand  thunders  blent, 

From  the  deep  heart  of  agonizing  earth, 
Knell,  shatter,  crash  along  the  firmament, 

And  new  hells  peopled  startle  into  birth. 
Vesuvius  sunders  !  pyramids  of  fire 

From  fathomless  abysses  blast  the  sky ; 
E'en  desolating  Ruin  doth  expire, 

And  mortal  Death  in  woe  immortal  die. 
Torrents  like  lurid  gore, 
Hurled  from  the  gulf  of  horror,  pour,  • 
Like  legion  fiends  embattled  to  the  spoil, 
And  o'er  the  temple  domes, 
And  joy's  ten  thousand  homes, 
Beneath  the  whirlwind  hail  and  storm  of  ashes  boil. 

The  surges,  like  coil'd  serpents,  rise 

From  midnight  caverns  of  the  deep, 

And  writhe  around  the  rocks, 

That  shiver  in  the  earthquake's  shocks, 

And  through  the  blackness  of  fear's  mysteries, 

Chained  Titans  from  their  beds  of  torture  leap, 

And  o'er  the  heavens  Eumenide& 
Seek  parting  souls  for  prey — 


192  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CANTO    III. 

Oh  God  !  that  on  these  dark  and  groaning  seas 
Would  soar  one  other  day ! 
Vain  is  the  mad  desire, 
Darkness,  convulsion,  fire, 
Infernal  floods,  dissolving  mountains,  fold 

The  helpless  children  of  woe,  sin  and  Time — 
O'er  fiery  wrecks  hath  Desolation  rolled, 
The  Infinite  Curse  attends  the  finite  crime  1 

No  melancholy  moon  to  gaze 

With  dim.  cold  light  remote  ! 
No  star,  through  stormy  spheres,  with  holy  rays, 

O'er  dying  eyes,  like  hope  of  heaven,  to  float ! 
No  spot — the  oasis  of  the  waste  above — 

Whose  still,  sweet  beauty  glistens 
Through  clouds  that  heave  and  riot  in  wild  masses. 

Breaks  on  the  breaking  heart !  no  seraph  listens 
In  blue  pavilions,  while  the  spirit  passes, 

And  o'er  the  dreariest  waters  bears, 
Beyond  the  unburied's  desert  shore, 

To  skies  ambrosial  and  elysian  airs, 
Where  e'en  the  awful  Destinies  adore ! 

No  tenderness  from  lips, 
Blackened  and  swoln  and  gasping,  steals 

Amidst  the  soul's  eclipse  ; 


CANTO    III.]  OF     POMPEII*  193 

Each,  in  the  solitude  of  misery,  feels, 

Ineffable,  his  own  despair, 
And  sinks  unsolaced,  unsolacing,  down, 

O'ercanopied  by  sulphurous  air, 
Palled,  tombed  by  seas  that  terror's  last  cry  drown  ! 


Oh,  still  the  piteous  cry 

Mounts  up  the  heavens — "fly  !  fly !" 

"Whither?"  the  billows  roar 

Among  the  wrecks  and  rent  crags  of  the  shore. 

"  Whither  ?"  the  Volcano's  voice 

Repeats,  bidding  pale  death  rejoice. 

Oh,  Hope  with  madness  dwells, 
And  love  of  life  creates  the  worst  of  deaths  ; 

Hark !  world  to  world  ten  thousand  voices  swells — • 

"  Resign  your  breaths !" 
We  die ;  the  sinner  with  the  sinless  dies, 

The  bud,  the  flower,  the  fruit  corruption  wastes, 
Childhood  and  hoar  age  blend  their  agonies, 

Destruction  o'er  the  earth — the  missioned  slayer  hastes." 

Swiftly  along  the  Pa3stan  gulf  before 
The  Alpine  gale,  scudded  the  Christians'  barque ; 
Night  veiled  Lucania's  rugged  shore  but  oft 
The  dreadful  radiance  of  the  firemount  hung 

25 


194  THE     LAST     NIGHT  [CAJJTO  HI. 

Upon  the  mightiest  Apennines,  and  there 

The  giant  cliffs,  hoar  forest  trees,  and  glens 

Of  cataracts — gleamed  on  the  fear-charmed  eyey 

Distinct  though  distant ;  and  Salernum's  crags 

Spurned  the  chafed  sea  that  rushed  before  the  prow1. 

"  Lo  !  Pliny's  galleys  speed  to  aid  at  last !" 

Said  Pansa,  gazing  through  the  meteor  light, 

Towards  the  Sarnus  and  the  victim  host. 

"  All  shall  not  perish ;  oars  and  sails  bear  on 

The  Roman  armament — and  now,  in  hope 

Renewed  exulting,  from  the  dust  upspring 

A  thousand  prostrate  shapes,  and  on  the  rocks 

Lift  their  scorched  hands,  and  shout  (though  we  hear  not) 

The  late  rescuers  on ;  yet  many  a  heart 

Will  throb  and  thrill  no  more,  but  buried  lie, 

Like  its  own  birthplace,  till  oblivion  rests 

On  the  Campanian  cities  and  their  guilt. 

— Salernum's  rocks  for  ever  from  our  gaze 

Hide  the  dark  scene  of  trial,  and  we  leave, 

With  swelling  canvass,  Rome's  imperial  realm, 

Where  Christian  faith  shall,  like  the  sandal  tree. 

Impart  its  odor  to  the  feller's  axer 

To  seek  a  hermitage  in  wilds  afar. 

— Now,  as  we  hasten,,  let  our  spirits  soar 

To  Him  who  shelters  when  the  avenger  slays  I" 


CANTO    III.]  OF     POMPEII. 


PANSA. 

"  Alone,  in  darkness,  on  the  deep, 

Spirit  of  Love !  redeemed  by  thee, 
While  fear  its  watch  o'er  ruin  keeps, 

Thy  grace  our  sign  and  shield,  we  flee. 
The  billows  burst  around  our  barque, 

The  death  streams  roll  and  burn  behind — 
Thy  mercy  guides  our  little  ark, 

Thy  breath  can  swell  or  hush  the  wind. 
Thy  footsteps  ruffled  not  the  wave 

When  drowning  voices  shrieked  for  aid— 
The  cavern'd  billow  yawn'd — a  grave — 

"  Be  still !"  it  heard  Thee  and  obeyed ! 
From  idol  rites  and  tyrant  power, 

Now  o'er  the  midnight  sea  we  fly — 
Be  with  us  through  our  peril's  hour ! 

Saviour !  with  Thee  we  cannot  die  ! 

MARIAMNE. 

•l  To  men  a  mocked  and  homeless  stranger. 
Thy  truth,  love,  grace  and  goodness  blest 

The  world,  whose  first  gift  was  a  manger, 
Whose  last,  the  Cross  !  no  down  of  rest 


196  .THE     LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   III. 

Pillowed,  O  Christ !  thy  holy  head, 

No  crown,  but  thorns,  Thy  temples  wreathed, 
Yet  Thou  the  Death  King  captive  led, 

And  through  the  tomb  a  glory  breathed ! 
The  scorner  all  Thy  love  reviled, 

Thy  path  was  pain,  thy  kingdom,  shame, 
Yet  sorrow  on  thine  aspect  smiled, 

E'en  Death  revered  Thy  deathless  name  ! 
The  bittern  moans  where  Zion  stood, 

The  serpent  crawls  where  nations  trod — 
Be  with  us  on  the  mountain  flood ! 

Fill  our  dim  hearts  with  light  from  GOD  ! 

THE  MAIDEN  OF  POMPEII. 

"  The  flame,  that  wrapt  my  childhood's  bowers, 

Revealed  Thee  to  my  darkened  mind ; 
Thee  whom  e'en  sybils,  seers  and  powers 

Of  Night  in  Delphi's  grove  divined ; 
With  the  dim  glimpse  of  shadowed  thought, 

They  saw  the  Atoner's  form  of  light, 
Yet  pale  doubt  sighed  o'er  visions  wrought, 

The  idol  world  still  walked  in  night. 
Now  paynim  dreams  of  dread  no  more, 

The  feigned  response,  the  magi's  charms, 
O'erawe  and  on  my  spirit  pour 

The  torturer's  spells,  the  tomb's  alarms. 


CAJfTO   UI.]  OP    POMPEII.  197 

On  starlight  wings,  through  blooming  air, 

Hope  unto  heaven  bears  human  love ; 
Doubt,  grief,  lone  tears,  remorse,  despair 

Haunt  not  the  soul's  own  home  above. 
My  chill  heart  cheered  by  thoughts  like  these, 

Far  from  my  ruined  bowers  1  roam ; 
Thy  love  lights  up  the  midnight  seas, 

Thy  smile  is  earth's  most  heavenly  home ! 

THE    OLD  CHRISTIAN. 

*  Dimmer,  like  hoary  years  that  bring 

Life's  winter,  wanes  the  volcan's  glare  ; 
Destruction  furls  his  meteor  wing, 

Watching  the  desert  of  despair ! 
Now  far  before,  the  ^Eolian  Isles 

Send  up  their  vassal  fires,  but  still, 
Where  fair  Trinacria's  Hybla  smiles, 

Darkness  sits  throned  on  ./Etna's  hill. 
Soon,  by  Sicilia's  whirlpool  streight, 

Our  barque  shall  seek  the  Ionian  sea, 
And  o'er  blue  Adria,  pagan  hate 

To  Rhaetian  hills  hunt  not  the  free  ! 
The  SUH,  with  beams  that  bloom,  shall  soar, 

And  vineyard,  vale,  hillside  and  grove, 
Sea,  mountain,  meadow,  isle  and  shore 

Bask  in  voluptuous  lights  of  love. 


398  THE    LAST    NIGHT  [CANTO   III. 

Yet  darker  ruin  must  descend, 

Which  man  alone  on  man  may  rain, 
And  locust  king  and  harlot  fiend 

With  the  heart's  wrecks  strew  mount  and  plain. 
Away  !  the  grave's  wild  shadows  swim 

O'er  my  pale  eve  of  autumn  days ; 
Away !  the  wild  to  harp  and  hymn 

Like  sphere- voiced  choirs,  shall  breathe,  O  Christ !  Thy 

love  and  praise !" 

*         *         #         #         *•         •*         *         -*         * 

'T  is  summer's  tenderest  twilight,  and  the  woods 
Glow  like  an  inner  glory  of  the  mind, 
And  rills,  veining  the  verdure,  and  among 
Vines,  rose-lipp'd  flowers  and  odorous  shrubs  in  mirth 
And  music  dancing,  purl  from  fountains  known 
But  to  the  gnomes  and  kobalds  of  the  Alps — 
Mysterious  springs,  o'er  which  eternal  night 
Watches  and  weeps  in  solitude,  her  tears 
Mingling,  at  last,  with  the  green  ocean  deeps. 
Brightness  and  beauty,  love  and  blessedness 
Breathe  on  each  other's  bosoms,  while  afar, 
From  jagged  cliffs  the  torrent  cataract 
Hymns  the  Omnipotent ;  and  from  the  brows 
Of  desolate  peaks  ice-diademed,  which  thought 
Alone  may  climb,  the  mountain  avalanche, 


CANTO  ra.J  OF  POMPEII.  199 

Vast  Ruin,  falls  and  with  it  ruin  bears. 

All  else  is  loneliness,  beauty  and  love, 

Pe  ce  and  a  hallowed  stillness,  and  the  souls 

Of  the  lone  mountain  dwellers,  in  the  hush 

Of  solitude  and  nature's  majesty, 

Partake  the  sanctity  and  power  around. 

The  sunbow  o'er  precipitated  floods — 

The  ice-lakes,  and  ravines  where  chaos  dwells 

And  desolation ;  flowers  beneath  snow-hills, 

Where  the  great  sun  looks  wan — the  mightiest  pines, 

Rooted  in  chasms,  that  o'er  the  unfathomed  gorge 

Hang,  wave  and  murmur — vales  of  paradise. 

That  smile  upon  suspended  horror — all 

With  memories  and  oracles  and  dreams, 

Time's  hopes,  eternity's  imaginings, 

Infinity's  vast  grandeur,  the  meek  love 

Of  birthplace  home, — the  boundlessness  of  power* 

The  holiness  of  earth's  reliance — fill 

The  awed  and  yet  exultant  intellect ! 

Flowered  fields  and  harvests  bloom  around  the  door 
Of  a  lone  forest  cottage,  and  amidst 
The  Eden  of  the  wild  a  hoary  head 
Is  lifted  and  the  wan  lips  move  in  prayer. 
Around,  three  beings  kneel  in  thought  o'erawecL 


;. 

THE    LAST    NIGHT,    &C.  [CANTO   III. 


Vesper  responses  breathing  from  high  hearts. 
The  ordeal  of  the  paynim  sternly  proved— 
And  Echo  whispers  in  the  clefted  rocks. 

From  meek  adorings  and  communing  love, 
Then  rose  they,  not  as  worshippers  arise 
In  latter  days  of  evil,  with  proud  eyes 
And  minds  revenge  corrodes,  but  violet-like, 
And  gentle  as  the  dawn  breath  of  sweet  May, 
Patient,  serene  and  robed  in  holy  thoughts. 

Dayspring  and  dewbeam,  thus,  year  after  year. 
Dawned  and  departed,  and  the  seasons  had 
Their  own  peculiar  joys  in  Pansa's  home. 
And  there — the  Roman  Convert's  testament— 
The  storm-nursed  heritors  of  Faith,  blasphemed, 
Throned  Liberty  on  Alpine  pinnacles, 
And  bade  her  temple  be  the  Switzer  hills. 
There  in  love  worshipped,  there  with  hoar  hairs  died 
The  Christians,  but  the  deathless  spirit  Rome 
Gave  to  her  son,  and  Mariamne's  heart, 
Bequeathed — in  Freedom  and  God's  holy  Law, 
With  tyrant  Wrong  warred  through  Guilt's  thousand 
years. 


LAYS    AND    LEGENDS. 


I 


LAYS  AND   LEGENDS. 


THE   LAY  OF   THE   FATHERLESS. 

Thou !  that  in  pangs  didst  give  me  mortal  birth, 
Nourish  my  helplessness  at  thy  life's  spring, 
And  bear  me  gently  o'er  the  desert  earth 
Upon  thy  bosom  till  my  thoughts  took  wing ! 
Thou  !  that  in  days  of  deepened  grief,  didst  fling 
The  mornlight  of  thy  smile,  thy  voice  of  joy 
O'er  my  quick  spirit,  till  each  human  thing 
Glowed  with  the  outbreaking  glory  of  the  sky, 
And  o'er  the  bosom  gushed  of  thy  devoted  boy ! 

In  pain  and  peril,  when  thy  years  were  few, 
And  Death's  Vast  shadow  on  thy  pathway  fell, 
Thou  to  the  greatness  of  thy  trial  grew, 
Bade  fortune,  mirth  and  cherished  hope  farewell, 


m 

204  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

Resigned,  for  me,  with  sorrow  long  to  dwell ! 
Thy  sleepless  eye  my  daring  steps  pursued, 
Thy  lone  heart  o'er  my  guarded  couch  did  swell, 
And  o'er  thy  child's  untrodden  solitude 
Thy  thoughts  like  seraphs  flew,  the  messengers  of  Good. 

That  harrowed  brow,  once  smooth  as  Parian  stone, 
That  hollow  eye,  erst  filled  with  Love's  own  light, 
Dimmed  by  the  gloom  thro'  memory's  temple  thrown — 
That  pale  cheek,  writ  in  characters  of  night, 
That  wasted  form,  which,  ere  the  hour  of  blight, 
Stood  proudly  up  in  worshipped  loveliness — 
All  to  my  soul  reveal  the  charm  and  might 
Of  deathless  Love,  that  dares  unsoothed  distress, 
And  from  the  shrine  of  Truth  can  guide  and  shield  and 
bless. 

Should  I  forget  the  heart  that  never  quailed, 
Nor  shrunk  from  fast  and  vigil  for  my  sake : 
Could  I  forget  the  faith  that  never  failed, 
The  solitary  star  on  youth's  wild  wake : 
Justly  my  MAKER  from  my  soul  would  take 
The  hope  that  wings  me  to  a  heaven  of  light, 
And  leave  me  in  the  waste  alone  to  slake 
The  death-thirst,  burning  through  the  rnornless  night, 
Of  the  seared  heart  that  loved  not  Love  in  its  delight. 


LAYS     AND     K£  GENUS.  205 

Bereaved  of  all  that  gave  thy  being  bliss, 
Save  one  unfortuned  and  unfriended  child, 
Without  thy  crown  of  gladness,  arid  the  kiss 
Of  wed  affection  cheering  through  the  wild, 
Thy  spirit  on  my  saddened  seasons  smiled  ; 
Thou  in  my  being  didst  condense  thine  own, 
While  poverty  assailed  and  power  beguiled, 
And  sickness  made  in  solitude  its  moan — 
And  can  1  e'er  forget  what  thou  hast  dared  and  done  ? 

Can  matin  orison  and  vesper  hymn, 
Soaring  when  slept  earth's  dagon  soul  of  guile, 
E'er  cease  to  thrill,  while  shades  of  sorrow  swim, 
Memory,  whose  thoughts  with  thine  own  look  now  smile? 
Can  twilight  meadow  and  hushed  temple  aisle 
Cease  to  enchant  and  hallow  with  their  songs  ? 
Or  commune  with  wood,  mount,  vale,  stream,  the  while, 
Pass  from  my  spirit  'mid  the  world's  deep  wrongs  ? 
Thy  wisdom  triumphs  o'er  life's  vain  vindictive  throngs. 

Beauty  in  loneliness  her  image  wrought 
Within  my  wrapt  unsolac'd  bosom — thou 
Ledst  grandeur  to  the  still  throne  of  my  thought, 
And  badst  me  drink  heaven's  waters  from  the  brow 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

Of  the  hoar  giant  precipice  !  and  now, 
Albeit,  men  skill  not  to  scan  me  right, 
Thy  lessons  lead  me,  as  by  palmer  vow, 
Through  trial,  toil,  hate,  grief,  the  watching  night, 
And  weary  day,  like  them  who  tracked  the  Horeb  light. 

Yet  this  is  but  a  portion  of  my  debt, 
My  Mother !  thou  amidst  my  foes  hast  stood, 
As,  in  his  eyrie,  when  the  air  is  jet 
With  wings  of  obscene  birds  and  beaks  of  blood, 
The  eagle  stands — lord  of  the  solitude  ! 
Their  shafts  have  broken  on  thy  bosom — thou 
Hast  grasped  the  arrows — struggled  with  the  flood — 
Borne  more  than  all  my  sufferings,  and  liv'st  now 
To  bear  day's  toil  for  me  and  those  that  round  me  grow, 

And  can  this  be  forgotten  ?  can  I  shrink 
To  brand  the  mortal  demon  who  shall  dare 
To  doubt  thy  matchless  love  ?  and  from  the  brink, 
Dragged  from  the  vile  crypt  of  his  serpent  lair, 
Hurl  him  blaspheming  in  his  writh'd  despair? 
No  !  thou  hast  dared  the  torrent: — trod  the  waste 
Through  life  for  me — arid,  witness  earth  and  air  ! 
The  heart,  that  but  for  thee  to  dust  had  passed, 
Shall  bleed,  ere  venom  more  upon  thy  truth  is  cast ! 


., 

LAYS     AND     LEGENDS.  '207 


Let  thy  foes  wither  in  the  worthlessness, 
The  scorn  of  coward  vengeance  !  that  the  name 
Of  thine  assailer  in  thy  long  distress 
Fitted  the  lips  of  even  a  moment's  fame  ! 
Oh,  on  his  brow  the  infamies  of  shame, 
Branded  by  agonies  should  fall  and  rot 
Into  his  heart  and  brain  till  earth  should  claim 
No  portion  of  his  vileness,  but  his  lot 
Be  with  corruption  which  in  death  decayeth  not ! 

Let  the  fiend  hear  !  he  hath  not  checked  my  thought — 
My  heritage  was  sorrow  and  hath  been, 
Yet  poverty  and  grief  not  vain  have  wrought, 
And  I  can  scorn  and  pass  the  base  unseen, 
And  deem  their  malice,  jest,  howe'er  they  ween ! 
But  there  shall  come  a  time — 't  is  but  delayed — 
When  ye,  forgers  of  falsehood !  cannot  screen 
Your  bosoms  from  the  lightning !  ye  have  made 
The  storm  your  couch — and  ye  shall  lie  there  mocked 
and  flayed. 

*  . 
For  they,  the  loving  and  beloved,  whom  hate 

Hath  hunted  from  the  birth  of  being,  bear 
My  burthen,  and  the  trials  of  my  fate, 
Because  vour  calumnies  defile  the  air  ! 


'•208  LAYS      AND      LEGENDS. 

And  shall  ye  be  forgotten  ?  when  the  fair 
And  matchless  forms  of  earth,  sea,  heaven  and  mind. 
Have  worn  the  wan  looks  of  a  sick  despair, 
And  1  have  wandered  like  the  homeless  wind, 
Foreboding  doubt  before  and  many  woes  behind  ! 

Hope  not  oblivion !  e'en  your  bread  is  bought 
With  lies  ;  a  libel  press  pours  out  the  bane 

,   That  in  your  rank  heart  festers  ;  ye  have  sought 
The  spoils  of  long  revenge,  and  by  the  pain 
Ye  round  my  household  hearth  have  shed,  your  gain 
Shall  be — Derision;  and  in  future  time, 
When  earth  casts  up  your  names  and  deeds  profane, 
Rotting  in  curses,  o'er  your  dastard  crime, 

The  shouts  of  hell  shall  roll  and  hail  ye  to  its  clime  ! 


LAYS     A  XD*  LEGENDS. 


H1PPIAS,  THE  TRAITOR  OF  MARATHON. 

Hipparchus  and  Ilippias,  called  the  Pisistratidse,  the  sons 
of  Pisistratus,  who  during  the  latter  years  of  Solon,  through 
artifice  and  treachery,  acquired  the  sovereignty  of  Athens,  by 
many  acts  of  arbitrary  exaction  and  cruelty,  had  awaked  the 
vengeance  of  the  Athenians.  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton  led 
the  revolt,  (indeed  the  inhabitants  of  Athens  had  never  acknow 
ledged  the  authority  of  Pisistratus  or  his  sons,)  and  slew  Hip 
parchus,  while  Hippias  escaped  into  the  castle  of  the  Acropolis, 
and  exercised,  for  three  years  after,  the  most  atrocious  severities 
upon  all,  whom  by  fraud  or  violence,  he  could  seize  and  tor 
ture.  I  have  supposed  Harmodius  dead,  and  Aristogiton  living, 
till  the  battle  of  Marathon,  though  the  anachronism  is  obvious 
enough.  Clisthenes,  who  contributed  so  much  to  expel  Hip 
pias,  afterwards  invented  the  ostracism,  and  was  himself  the 
first  sufferer.  The  Panatheuea,  which  the  Athenians  are  sup 
posed  to  be  celebrating,  in  the  first  part  of  the  Poem,  was  the 
most  splendid  festival  of  Attica :  and  the  month  Hecatombaeon, 
in  which  it  was  solemnized,  being  the  period  of  the  accession 
of  the  Archons  and  Thesmothetae  to  office,  would  naturally 
awaken  the  people  to  the  assertion  of  their  rights. 

Autumnal  twilight  011  the  Zephyr's  wing 
Hovered  o'er  Athens,  and  its  iris  hues 
Blended  with  ether's  vestal  blue,  breathed  o'er 
By  the  favonian  airs,  and  with  the  clouds 
Pavilioned  in  the  heavens,  or  diamond  stars 
Now  in  their  lustrous  beauty  coming  forth. 
The  myrtle  and  rose-flowered  acacia  flung 
27 

* 


210  LAV 


Their  vesper  fragrance  on  the  mellow  breeze; 

The  illumined  sea,  dimpling  with  smiles,  sent  up 

The  gentlest  music  to  the  parting  light 

And  dawning  Pleiades,  and,  man  might  dream, 

The  tritons  with  Poseidon,  in  a  heaven 

Beneath  the  emerald  billows,  mid  strange  flowers, 

O'erclustering  coral  temples,  dwelt  and  sung. 

The  vales  of  Arcady,  from  meads  of  thyme 

And  hallowed  fountains,  for  dim  oracles 

Renowned,  uplifted  evening  orisons, 

With  forest  hymns  of  the  hoar  hills,  whose  brows 

Gleamed  in  the  earliest  and  latest  light, 

Rejoicing  in  the  loveliness  of  eve. 

And  many  a  woodland  pipe  and  cithern  hailed 

Familiar  constellations,  as  the  blaze 

Of  the  divine  Hyperion  left  the  skies 

To  the  dominion  of  Love's  blessed  stars. 

Yet  'mid  the  pomp  of  luxuries,  within 
Athena's  citadel,  in  broidered  robes, 
And  tossing  on  his  purple  banquet  couch 
In  torture,  lay  the  racked  but  noble  form 
Of  one  who  cursed  the  sunlight,  and  shut  out 
The  holy  influences  of  the  heaven, 
Loathing  the  beauty  passion  in  his  soul 


*    *. 


JJA\S     AN  D'  LE  G  E  NWS.  211 

Had  darkened  with  its  midnight,  and  in  wrath 

Shunning  the  spirit  of  magnificence 

He  felt  not  in  his  bosom's  depth  of  gloom. 

Among  the  splendors  of  a  power,  erewhile 

By  treachery  grasped,  yet  ministered  with  thoughts 

Of  grandeur,  lay  the  last,  least-gifted  heart 

Whose  pulses  bounded  with  the  glowing  blood 

Of  Pisistratus  :  o'er  his  lofty  brow, 

And  lips  of  beauty — which  disdained  the  soul 

That  mocked  them  with  its  weak  and  evil  powers — 

The  chill  dews  of  an  agony,  that  shook 

Aside  the  veil  that  masked  it  to  the  world, 

Gushed,  and  in  dark  lines  o'er  his  countenance 

The  tempest  of  a  foiled  ambition  fell. 

From  burnished  shield,  statue  and  gleaming  lance, 

Gem-hilted  sabre  and  the  pictured  tomes 

Of  Scio's  deathless  bard,  and  all  the  pomp 

Of  pillared  porticoes,  he  turned  and  breathed 

Quick,  panting  execrations,  as  the  breeze 

Rustled  the  olives  of  the  Parthenon, 

Or  with  the  orange  leaves,  like  oreads,  played. 

Listening  with  the  intensest  hope  and  fear, 

He  rose  upon  the  couch  and  forward  leaned  ; 

His  pale  lips  writhed  as  if  their  scorpion  curves 

if 

Could  fill  his  curse  with  venom^-and  his  brow, 


LAYS     A  A  D     L  K  G  E  X  I)  S. 

Convulsed  by  pangs  of  guilt,  e'en  now  in  youth 
Burned  with  the  ghastly  light  of  blasted  fame. 

"  The  Egyptian  could  not  err — the  Acropolis 
Hath  never  fail'd  its  master  !  yet  the  yells 
Of  the  wild  faction— the  dust-eaters — daunt 
My  spirit — and  I  feel  the  spear-point  glide 
Along  my  heart,  whene'er  Hipparchus'  doom 
Darkens  the  mirror  of  fierce  memories  !" 
Thus  in  his  solitude  the  tyrant  spake. 
"  A  footfall  echoes  on  the  corridor  ! 
Was't  not  a  voice  beneath  ?  he  comes  to  bring 
The  soldiers  of  the  isles  unto  my  aid. 
Ay,  shout,  and  shriek,  and  with  your  torchlight  glare. 
Affright  the  heavens,  ye  faithless  herd  of  serfs  ! 
I  know  ye  merciless — can  I  be  less  ? 
Howl  in  your  wild  Panathenea,  howl ! 
Your  festival  may  close  with  unhoped  feasts, 
Your  saturnalia  with  the  clank  of  chains  ! 
My  trusted  Medon  comes  with  tidings  fit 
To  soothe  my  ear  shocked  by  your  Teian  oaths. 
A  nearer  step — and  a  white  banner  borne 
Proudly — he  comes  with  succor  in  his  smile  !" 
A  lofty  shadow  crossed  the  vestibule, 
And  in  the  purple  twilight  silent  stood 


LAVS      AND     LEGENDS. 

Before  the  tyrant,  who  but  ill  discerned 
Through  the  vast  hall  of  revelries  the  face 
That  with  a  marble  sternness  searched  his  soul. 
"  Speak,  Medon !  will  the  isles  avenge  our  cause, 
And  crush  the  rebel  slaves  that  seek  our  death  ?" 

"  Gaze  with  a  better  judgment,  Hippias  !  once 
Clothed  with  a  power  thou  dost  no  longer  hold. 
Thou  seest  no  Medon  !  but  the  herald-king 
Of  the  Amphyctions — who  thus,  from  them 
Bids  thee  resign  the  citadel,  and  part 
For  ever  from  the  shores  thy  crimes  have  cursed — 
Or  struggle  with  the  vengeance  thou  hast  raised  !" 

"  Ha  !  't  is  a  gracious  message,  and  I  thank 
The  artizans  of  Athens  for  their  love ; 
But  what  my  father  builded  and  the  blood 
Of  bold  Hipparchus  sanctified,  1  keep ; 
Daring  the  Thesmothetre  and  their  host 
Of  burden-bearers  in  their  worst  assault." 

"  The  oppressor  skills  not  in  the  lore  of  life, 
His  grandeur  is  the  sea-foam — and  his  power 
The  gossamer  a  zephyr  bears  away. 
Beware  thy  answer,  't  is  the  very  last 


xJ14  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

The  desperation  of  the  land  allows. 

Hast  thou  forgot  Lenasa  on  the  rack  ? 

She  spat  her  gory  tongue  at  thee,  and  died 

Defying  tyrants  to  make  traitors,  son 

Of  the  destroyer  of  the  chainless  Right ! 

Aristogiton  and  brave  Clisthenes 

May  teach  thee  wisdom  ere  thy  Medon  comes !" 

"  And  I  may  teach  it  thee,  unmannered  slave 
Of  men,  who,  while  they  envy  me,  aspire 
To  gain  the  masterdom  by  fawns  and  smiles 
Flung  on  the  vile  democracies  of  Greece  ! 
The  trusted  may  betray — the  ruthless  foe 
Assail — and  famine  be  my  only  guest — 
Danger  my  only  guard — despair,  the  pulse 
That  throbs  me  on  to  death — but  I  to  none 
Will  render  back  my  heritage  !  away  !"  . 

"  One  word,  proud  Hippias  !  thou  may'st  depart 
With  thine  own  Ilhodope  and  all  thy  wealth, 
To  any  realm  thou  wilt — but  hear  me,  lord ! 
Aristogiton  with  Platasan  troops 
Leads  on  the  squadrons  of  brave  Clisthenes ! 
The  Spartan  and  the  Alcma3onidac 
Are  banded  with  Arcadia  to  o'erwhelm — '' 


LAYS     AND     EEGENDS.  215 

"  And  let  them  come  !  it  shall  be  joy,  whate'ef 
The  gods  resolve,  to  dip  my  hand  in  hearts 
That  clove  my  brother's  i  Did  I  rightly  hear — 
Aristogiton  ?  that  thy  place  were  his  ! 
I  would  abscind  a  whole  Olympiad 
From  being  but  to  quench  that  thirst !  he  slew 
Hipparchus  !  and  he  will  be  deified  ! 
If  ghosts  are  gods,  my  hand  should  make  him  one  ! 
Away  !  begone  !  the  citadel  is  mine  !" 

Slowly  the  herald,  spurning  the  dust,  retired 
Unto  the  assembling  host  that  through  the  gates 
Poured  o'er  the  city,  while  thronged  galleys  lay 
In  the  Pirajus,  and  the  cries  of  wrath 
From  the  Munychian  fortress  hastened  on 
The  assaulters  of  the  tyrant's  citadeL 
That  night,  festivities  and  liberal  mirth, 
Accustomed  at  the  nation's  gayest  feast, 
When  all  in  Athens  banqueted  and  sang, 
Wanted  their  worshippers  ;  for  human  hearts, 
Goaded  and  gashed  by  wanton  tyranny, 
Hurled  their  oppressions  and  oppressors  forth, 
And  robed  their  wounds  with  justice  !  every  clime 
Hath  had  its  crowned  and  sceptred  torturers^ 
Its  diadems  and  dungeons — every  clime 


XJG1  L  A  Y  S     A  N  I*     L  3E  G  E  N  D  S. 

May  have  its  armed  avengers,  if  the  mind 

Feels  its  immortal  majesty,  and  bathes 

The  brand  of  bondage  with  the  monarch's  tears. 

The  battle-cries — the  rush — the  trumpet's  voice — 
The  glare  of  torchlight  combat — the  dismay 
And  triumph — dinted  shields  and  shattered  helms — 
And  broken  palisades,  and  trampled  halls 
Of  desolated  splendor — all  are  o'er ! 
Deserted  in  his  peril  by  the  shades 
Of  his  past  glory,  Hippias,  through  the  gloom 
Of  tangled  wilds  and  shaggy  caverns,  groped 
His  lonely  path  to  banishment — amidst 
The  forests,  crags  and  torrents  and  defiles 
Of  his  wronged  country — on  the  toppling  peak, 
And  in  the  voiceless  grotto — danger — fear, 
And  hopelessness  and  hunger,  breathing  one, 
One  deep,  remorseless  passion,  born  of  Hate 
And  Agony — Revenge  !  Revenge  for  all ! 
With  ravening  thirst  of  vengeance,  borne  for  years. 
Through  mountain  gorges  and  o'er  deserts  fled 
The  banished  Hippias  to  the  eastern  king. 

Amidst  the  beauty  and  magnificence, 
The  pomp  and  perfumes  of  the  Sophi's  court 


LAYS     AND     LEGEND!*.  217 


The  outcast  tyrant  bow'd,  while  satraps  laid 
Their  foreheads  in  the  dust  and  magi  waved, 
From  golden  censers,  odors  o'er  the  throne 
Of  Persia's  King,  in  conquered  Babylon. 
The  diamond  diadem,  the  Tyrrhene  robes 
Girded  by  broidered  zones  of  gems  and  gold, 
The  violet  colored  turbans  thronging  round 
The  sceptre  that  awed  Asia,  and  the  dread 
Of  the  adoring  crowd  —  o'er  Hippias  threw 
No  fear  and  veneration  fitting  herds 
Who  grovel  through  the  gloom  of  vassalage, 
To  breathe  a  glory  they  can  never  share. 
Might,  majesty,  the  usages  of  kings, 
Palace  and  temple,  and  the  matchless  mind 
Of  Greece  had  left  the  unsceptred  wanderer  now 
No  admiration  of  barbaric  pomp. 

"  What  wouldst  thou,  son  of  Ptsistratus  1"  said 
Royal  Hystaspes.  —  "  Refuge  and  Revenge  !" 
Replied  the  unfaltering  prince.  —  "  The  first  is  thine, 
In  Susa,  by  Choaspes,  or  the  bowers 
Of  fair  Persopolis  —  or  any  dome 
Of  all  our  empire  that  hath  held  a  king, 
Till  such  time  as  the  greatness  of  our  cares 
Permits  us  further  to  discourse  of  thine. 

28 


** 


LAYS     AN1>     1,  £  U  £  .\  i>  s. 

Thou  shall  not  lack  our  solace  for  the  woes 
Revolt  hath  stirred  within  thy  bosom,  Prince ! 
Nor  our  fit  aid  to  wrest  from  rebel  hordes 
A  ransom  such  as  Babylon  has  paid 
For  treason  and  Zopyrus — when  time  serves. 
Thou  comest  not  alone  ?" 

"  My  Rhodope, 

For  we  are  childless,  is  the  only  charm 
That  lingers  round  my  desolated  path, 
Great  sovereign  of  the  Orient !  and  she, 
Worn  by  our  perilled  flight,  awaits,  in  grief. 
The  edict  of  the  monarch's  gracious  will." 

"  O  Mythra  !  doth  it  come  to  this,  at  last  ? 
That  a  frail  woman — like  a  summer  cloud 
Upon  the  desert,  is  the  only  shade 
For  the  brave  man  in  agony — the  flower 
That  with  its  fragrant  leaves  shadows  the  brow 
Which  burns  in  Passion's  fever — that  our  pride 
And  pleasure  and  renown  and  majesty 
Are  vanities  beneath  her  starlight  smile ! 
Well,  thou  art  happy,  Hippias  !  in  thy  love. 
Choose  from  our  regal  mansions  as  thou  wilt — 
And  Peace,  like  the  cool  fountain's  music,  shed 
Her  gladness  round  thee  till  we  meet  again  !" 


I,  AYS     AND      LEGENDS.  219 

When  Freedom,  phrenzied  by  the  scorn  and  wrong 

Of  purple  power,  tears  from  the  place  of  guilt 

The  Atlas  of  the  crushed  heart's  agonies 

The  sceptre  trembles  in  each  monarch  hand 

O'er  the  glad  earth — the  brightest  crown-gems  fade. 

And  battled  legions — mercenary  hosts — 

Are  cast  like  avalanches,  o'er  the  realm 

That  doubts  the  archangel  sanctitude  of  kings. 

So  goodly  sympathies  expand,  and  crime 

Becomes  impolicy,  and  shedded  blood 

Lamented  chance,  and  princely  palaces 

In  other  kingdoms  shield  the  despot,  cells 

Of  darkness  in  his  own  should  carcerate. 

Time  is  but  thought ;  and  o'er  the  ill  or  good, 
It  flies  or  lingers  as  their  spirits  will, 
Soothing  misfortune,  or  to  nurtured  hate, 
Adding  dark  torrents  of  feigned  injuries. 
Years  drearily  meandered  o'er  the  heart 
Of  Hippias  amidst  the  loveliest  bloom 
And  verdure  of  the  lote  and  myrtle  groves, 
The  Aurora  and  the  vesper  hymn  of  streams, 
The  chequered  shadows  of  the  Zagros  hills, 
The  magic,  love,  romance  and  revelries 
Of  his  own  beautiful  and  glittering  home. 


**  * 


I- AYS     AND     LEGENBS. 


Humiliation  panted  for  revenge — 
Shame  summoned  demon  pride — lost  powers  called  up 
The  faded  apparitions  of  his  hour 
Of  homage  and  dominion ;  and  he  sued 
By  starbeam  and  by  sunlight,  through  the  years 
Of  banishment,  to  satraps  at  his  feasts, 
And  princes  in  their  palaces  to  lead 
The  vast  hosts  of  the  east  against  the  land 
Where,  tyraat  once  and  traitor  now,  his  soul 
Exulted  to  inflict  its  hoarded  wrath. 
His  head  was  hoary  and  his  countenance 
Trench'd  o'er,  and  charr'd  by  evil  thoughts,  ere  forth 
The  heralds  of  the  Medes  and  Persians  passed, 
To  bid  Arcadia  to  the  Persian  bow. 
And  Hippias  buried  time,  till  one  returned. 
"Brings't  thou  the  earth  and  water?  fear  they  not?' 
Astarte  save  me  !  1  alone  am  left ; 
4  The  Grecians  hurled  my  fellows  from  the  rocks 
Into  the  abysses — saying  '  Take  your  fill !'  " 

Mocked  thus,  Darius  paused  not,  but  arrayed 
Hie  armies  for  the  conquest,  and  the  waves 
Of  the  Euphrates  heard  the  shouts  and  songs 
Of  thousands  following  thousands  to  the  war. 
The  barbs  of  Araby  and  towered  elephants 


LAYS     AND      I,  CO  UN  Us.  221 

Bore  dusky  chieftains  panoplied  ;   the  waste 
And  mountain  pass  and  plain  with  silken  tents 
And  costliest  pavilions,  pillowed  round, 
Seemed  an  enchanted  land  ;  and  instruments 
Of  softest  music  breathed  their  harmonies 
On  the  spread  camp  and  scattered  wanton  march. 
Emblazoned  shields  no  blood  had  ever  dimmed, 
And  mirrored  helmets  ne'er  a  sword  had  left 
A  hero's  witness  on— and  garments  soiled 
By  no  wild  combat  or  untented  sleep, 
Glittered  and  waved  around  the  royal  pomp. 
Beside  the  monarch  in  the  centre  rode 
The  mover  of  this  pageantry,  and  oft 
The  doubting  mind  of  Hippias,  as  he  cast 
His  troubled  glances  o'er  the  motley  host, 
Betrayed  the  fear  that,  like  a  thraldom  brand, 
Seared  his  proud  heart ;  yet  dared  he  not  arraign 
The  satrap's  vaunted  skill  in  high  command. 
So  on  they  passed,  and  o'er  the  ^Egean  swept 
The  galleys  of  the  Persian,  and  his  bands, 
Like  sundered  glaciers,  poured  upon  the  plain 
Of  deathless  Marathon,  leaving  behind 
Dark  solitudes  of  smouldering  flame  and  gore. 
There  stood  Miltiades,  mid  the  armed  hearts 
Of  Arcady,  and  in  the  bristling  van 


L  A  Y  S    A  N  D     LEGENDS. 

Of  the  Plataeans  towered  an  aged  form, 
Unbroken  by  the  harvest  years  of  joy 
And  virtue  ;  and  the  same  heroic  eye 
Watched  the  o'ercrowding  foe,  that  erst,  along 
The  hallowed  blade  flashed  on  the  cloven  heart 
Of  dead  Ilipparchus  ;  and  the  traitor's  brow 
Felt  the  pale  shadows  of  the  sepulchre, 
As  he  beheld  Aristogiton  there  ! 

Let  me  not  feign  a  picture  of  that  fight ! 
The  sanctities  of  ages  shroud  its  deeds. 
It's  name  is  glory,  and  the  hero's  fame, 
Shrined  in  the  pantheon  of  deathless  thought ! 
It  thrills  the  soul  of  childhood  and  inspires 
The  sage,  the  warrior,  arid  the  statesman,  when 
All  other  fields  of  triumph  pass  away  ! 

,    The  earth  became  a  reservoir  of  blood, 

And  carnage  loathed  its  banquet,  ere  the:  waves 

Of  war  bore  Hippias,  crimsoned  with  the  gore 

Of  his  betrayed  and  groaning  country,  near 

Its  terrible  avenger.     "  Art  thou  come, 

Hoar  tyrant  traitor  !  to  invoke  thy  doom 

From  him  who  gashed  thy  brother's  perjured  heart  ? 

And  heard  Harmodius,  in  his  torture,  name 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

Thy  parasites,  his  fellows  in  the  death  ? 
Come !  let  the  trophy  of  my  best  days  be 
Thy  head,  upon  the  shield,  that  shall  not  save 
Thy  bosom — when  thy  country  bids  thee  die  !" 

He  grasped — he  hurled  him  from  his  plunging  steed — 
And,  linked  like  maddened  scorpions  they  strove, 
And  on  the  earth  struggled  in  the  wild  might 
Of  merciless  and  all-redeeming  hate. 
Aristogiton  is  above  him  now  ! 
Strike  for  thy  country !  strike  for  human  kind  ! 
The  sabre  searched  the  tyrant's  vitals  then ! 
Ha  !  the  blood  bubbles  from  the  ruthless  heart ! 
Again — one  other  blow  for  Liberty ! 
Why  roll  thine  eye-balls,  patriot  ?  oh,  the  blade 
Of  Hippias,  by  his  dying  anguish  driven 
With  all  his  living  hate,  is  in  thy  heart ! 
The  red  streams  mingle — the  deep  rattling  voice 
Of  Death  exults  in  this  last  wild  Revenge, 
And  the  low  prayer  of  gratitude,  and  sigh 
Of  love  flow  from  the  stiffening  lips  that  breathed 
Their  latest  blessing  on  Arcadia's  realm. 
And  there,  at  eve,  the  searchers  of  the  dead, 
Locked  breast  to  breast,  and  palled  in  darkened  blood, 
The  tyrant  and  the  avenging  patriot  found. 


224  LAYS     AND     LEUENUS. 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER  GENEVIEVE. 

Star  of  my  being's  early  night ! 

Tender  but  most  triumphant  flower  ! 
Frail  form  of  dust  and  heavenly  light ! 

Rainbow  of  storms  that  round  me  lower  ! 
Of  tested  love  the  pledge  renewed, 

The  milder  luminary  given 
To  guide  me  through  earth's  solitude, 

To  Love's  own  home  of  bliss  in  heaven ! 

Heiress  of  Fate  !  thy  soft  blue  eye 

Throws  o'er  the  earth  its  brightness  now, 
As  sunlight  gushes  from  the  sky 

In  glory  o'er  the  far  hill's  brow ; 
And  light  from  thine  ethereal  home 

On  every  sinless  moment  lingers, 
As  hope,  o'er  happier  days  to  corne, 

Thrills  the  heart's  harp  with  viewless  fingers. 

For,  from  the  fount  of  Godhead,  thou, 
A  ray  midst  myriads  wandering  down. 

Still  wear'st  upon  that  stainless  brow 
The  seraph's  pure  and  glorious  crown ; 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS.  225 

Still — from  thy  Maker's  bosom  taken 

To  bear  thy  trial  time  below, 
Like  sunlight  flowers,  by  winds  unshaken, 

The  dews  of  heaven  around  thee  glow. 

Hours  o'er  thy  placid  spirit  pass 

Like  forest  streams  that  glide  and  sing, 
When  through  the  fresh  and  fragrant  grass 

Breathes  the  immortal  soul  of  spring ; 
And  through  the  realms  of  thy  blest  dreams, 

Thy  high  mysterious  thoughts  of  Time, 
Heaven's  watchers  roam  by  Eden  streams, 

And  hail  thee,  Love  !  in  hymns  sublime. 

But  these  bright  days  will  vanish,  Love  ! 

And  thou  wilt  learn  to  weep  o'er  truth, 
And  with  a  saddened  spirit  prove 

That  bliss  abides  alone  with  youth. 
Cares  may  corrode  that  lovely  cheek, 

And  fears  convulse  that  gentle  heart, 
And  agonies,  thou  dar'st  not  speak, 

Deepen  as  childhood's  hours  depart. 
29 


LAYS     A  N  1>      J,  K  tl  K  >  i>  ." . 

And  thou,  fair  child !  as  years  descend 

In  darkness  on  thy  desert  track, 
May'st  tread  thy  path  without  a  friend, 

Gaze  on  through  tears,  through  shadows  back, 
And  sigh  unheard  by  all  who  stood 

Around  thee  on  a  happier  day, 
And  struggle  with  the  torrent  flood, 

That  sweeps  thy  last  pale  hope  away. 

O'er  the  soft  light  of  that  blue  eye 

Clouds  of  wild  gloom  may  quickly  gather, 
As,  ere  the  sunburst  of  his  sky 

The  tempest  fell  around  thy  father; 
And  mid  the  world's  blind  wealth  and  pride. 

The  chill  of  crowds,  life's  restless  stir, 
Thou  may'st  unknown  with  grief  abide. 

Lone  as  the  sea  of  Anadir. 

And  thou  wilt  grow  in  beauty,  love ! 

While  I  am  mouldering  in  the  gloom, 
And  like  the  summer  rill  and  grove, 

Sigh  a  brief  sorrow  o'er  my  tomb ; 
And  thou  wilt  tread  the  same  wild  path 

Of  mirth  and  madness  all  have  trod 
Since  time  gave  birth  to  sin  and  wrath — 

Till  from  the  dust  thou  soar  to  GOD  ! 


LAYS     AND     LEGEXPS.  227 

Doubts  may  assail  thy  soul,  and  woes 

Gather  into  a  burning  chain, 
And  round  thy  darkened  spirit  close 

Mid  loneliness,  disease  and  pain, 
When  I  no  more  can  watch  and  guard 

Thy  daily  steps,  thy  nightly  rest, 
Nor  with  the  strength  of  sorrow,  ward 

Earth's  evil  from  thy  spotless  breast. 

Fed  by  the  dust  that  gave  thee  breath, 

Wild  flowers  may  bloom  above  my  grave, 
And  sigh  in  every  night  breeze,  Death, 

When  thou  shalt  shriek  for  me  to  save ! 
The  bosom,  from  whose  fount  thy  lips 

The  nectar  drew  of  bliss  below, 
May  moulder  in  the  soul's  eclipse, 

And  leave  thee  to  thy  friendless  woe. 

Ambition's  lures — the  destinies 

Proud  passion  shapes  and  calls  them  Fate's, 
Far  wilder  billows  than  the  sea's, 

(Man  but  for  evil  power  creates), 
May  cast  between  thy  gentle  love 

And  thy  loved  brother's  high  career — 
A  barrier  like  the  Mount  of  Jove — 

The  parting  of  a  hemisphere. 


228  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

And  wiles  and  snares  and  sorceries, 

Will  spread  beneath  thy  feet,  and  stain 
Thy  spirit  with  their  glittering  lies, 

Till  phantom  bliss  doth  end  in  pain; 
And  thou  must  feel  and  fear  and  hide 

The  doubts  that  gloom,  the  pangs  that  gnaw. 
And  o'er  a  wreck'd  heart  wear  the  pride, 

That  casts  on  guilt  an  angel  awe. 

Yet  dread  not  thou,  my  Genevieve ! 

The  ills  allowed,  allotted  here — 
Nor  waste  thy  soul  in  thoughts  that  grieve — 

The  trembling  sigh,  the  burning  tear ! 
Mind  builds  its  empire  on  the  waste — 

And  virtue  triumphs  in  despair — 
The  guiltless  woe  of  being  past 

Is  future  glory's  deathless  heir. 

Beware  the  soil  of  thoughts  profane, 

The  fluent  speech  of  skill'd  design, 
Passion  that  ends  in  nameless  pain, 

And  fiction  drawn  from  fashion's  mine  ! 
He,  who  so  wildly  shadows  out 

The  darkest  passions  of  our  sin, 
Draws  the  dark  bane,  he  strews  about, 

From  the  deep  fount  of  guilt  within. 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS.  220 

THE  ANOINTED  keep  thee,  sinless  child! 

Be  on  thy  path,  the  PARACLETE  ! . 
Through  dreary  wold  and  desert  wild 

THE  GIVER  guide  thy  little  feet! 
Like  buds  that  bloom  as  blown  flowers  fall, 

New  hopes  wave  o'er  thee  angel  pinions, 
Till  thou,  with  them  who  loved  thee — all — 

Blend  round  the  smile  of  GOD  in  glory's  high  dominions. 


URN   BURIAL. 

Give  not  the  human  temple  of  the  mind 
To  the  dead  loathsome  dust  of  ages  gone, 
In  the  cold,  silent,  glimmering  vault  consign'd 
To  the  dark  sceptre  of  Death's  ebon  throne  ; 
Give  not  the  quench'd  and  shattered  shrine,  whereon 
Thought  burned  its  incense,  feeling  breathed  its  prayer, 
O'er  which  Hope,  Faith,  and  Intellect  have  flown, 
To  the  bleak,  haunted  darkness  of  despair — 
Oblivion's  utter  gloom,  where  Love  cannot  repair. 

Time  rends  the  ties  which  frail  Earth  briefly  gives, 
And  the  soul's  visions  vanish  like  the  wind, 
But  love  immortal  in  its  glory  lives, 
And  in  elysium  links  blest  mind  with  mind  ; 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

V 

E'en  now,  wing'd  angels,  watching  o'er  their  kind, 
In  parted  beings  old  affection  burns, 
As,  hovering  o'er  the  haunts  of  thought  enshrined, 
To  the  heart's  home,  that,  once  lost,  ne'er  returns, 
They  wander  gladly  back  and  breathe  upon  their  urns. 

The  seraph  visitants,  who  dwelt  in  forms, 
Redeemed  by  tears  and  hallowed  by  the  grave, 
Float  o'er  our  thoughts  in  starlight  and  in  storms, 
And  vainly  languish  for  the  love  they  gave ; 
While  each  loved  bosom,  to  cold  dust  a  slave, 
Decays  in  darkness,  and  no  eye  looks  down 
Upon  Earth's  buried  mysteries  to  save 
The  spirit's  ark  from  sacrilege  unknown, 
Or  bring  affection  back  with  the  altar  and  the  crown. 

But  there,  pale  tremblers  o'er  the  prison  tomb, 
Where  Death  from  each  heart-thrilling  feature  springs, 
The  plumes  of  spirits  quiver  in  the  gloom, 
And  vain  sighs  murmur  in  their  restless  wings, 
Uttering  their  deathless,  doomed  imaginings; 
While  life  is  stirring  in  the  ardent  veins 
Of  cheered  survivors,  and  each  daybreak  brings 
Fair  gleams  of  hope  and  fresh  Arcadian  strains, 
To  gild  the  weeds  of  woe, — to  hush  Death's  clanking  chains. 


LAYS     AN1>     LEGENDS.  231 

Nourished  in  loneliness  by  beam  and  dew, 
The  azure  waters  and  the  emerald  shore, 
Light  from  the  mind,  like  Gods  from  Ida.  flew, 
And  breathed  the  immortal  seraph's  holiest  lore ; 
And,  from  the  world's  corruptings,  thought  would  soar, 
When  twilight  taught  religion,  not  of  creeds, 
Beyond  the  power  of  evil,  and  deplore 
Frailties,  o'er  which  the  burning  bosom  bleeds, 
And  guilt,  that  casts  deep  night  where'er  it  wildly  leads. 

Can  this  be  Love's  last  refuge  ?  this,  the  home 
Of  the  heart's  ardors  and  elysian  charms? 
To  Death's  cold  mansion  none  of  Time  will  come, 
Where  thou  sit'st,  Earth !  thy  dead  ones  in  thine  arms ! 
But  shrinking  fears  and  doubts  and  quick  alarms 
Pervade  and  agonize  the  soul,  that  shoots 
Through  the  still  dwelling,  where  no  object  warms 
The  frozen  sea  of  memory,  and  the  roots 
Of  Love  decay,  and  leave  sear  trunk  and  blasted  fruits. 

But,  oh,  how  beautiful  the  olden  rite ! 
The  twilight  burial  and  the  spicewood  pyre! 
The  asbestos  robe,  the  witnesses  of  light 
From  the  blue  heavens  beholding  son  or  sire 
Bearing  the  dead  with  torch,  and  urn,  and  lyre ! 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

Hope,  memory,  feeling,  adoration  dwelt 
Within  the  mind,  that  purified  by  fire 
The  form,  which,  late,  earth's  sin  and  sorrow  felt, 
Yet  kept  the  dust  beloved  and  with  it  gently  dealt. 

Imagination,  pathless  and  alone, 
Went  with  a  soundless  tread  through  being's  sky, 
Bounding  the  infinite,  naming  the  unknown, 
And  blending  mortal  with  what  could  not  die : 
No  voice,  no  vision,  no  revealing  eye 
Restored  man's  error  in  his  maze  of  dreams, 
But,  solitary  in  creations  high, 
He  gave  immortal  thoughts  to  woods  and  streams, 
Bathed  death's  cheek  in  young  dew  and  filled  death's  eye 
with  beams. 

Thus,  mounting  to  the  fount  of  life  divine, 
The  spirit  revelled  in  its  visionries, 
Creating  in  each  star  a  sacred  shrine — 
Having  its  home  in  the  blue  evening  skies  ! 
Man's  hallowed  love  of  beauty  never  dies, 
But,  born  with  being,  gleams  along  the  track 
Of  life,  and,  shadowing  human  destinies, 
Revokes  the  evelights  of  glad  childhood  back, 
And  throws  the  rainbow's  hues  along  the  dark  cloud's  rack. 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS.  233 

These  lofty  thoughts  around  the  dead  became 
Soarings  of  tenderness,  of  Love  that  brought 
Electric  union  of  the  deeds  and  name, 
The  flesh  and  the  far  being  of  the  thought ; 
High  Intellect  hath  even  shrunk  from  NOUGHT, 
With  loathing  chill,  and  fashioned,  at  desire, 
Worlds,  where  the  fever,  famine,  ice,  and  drought, 
Can  slay  no  more — where  friendship  and  the  lyre 
May  hail,  from  ashes  urned,  the  souls  their  songs  inspire. 

But  who  will  weep  when  /  shall  be  no  more  ? 
Who  to  my  manes  offer  life's  regret! 
The  barque  departs  from  being's  desert  shore — 
The  storm-veiled  sun  of  saddened  mind  hath  set ! 
Few  are  the  hearts  my  wayward  fate  hath  met 
Which  mine  could  fold  as  heaven  unto  my  soul, 
And  these  Earth  shrouds  or  treachery's  poison  net; 
And  thus,  alone,  to  Death's  world-darkened  goal, 
Friendless,  I  haste  and  leave  the  orphans  to  their  dole. 

Dread  not  thy  doom  as  mindless  vassals  fear 
The  tyrant's  lash  and  torture,  but,  through  all 
The  hours  allotted  to  thy  action  here, 
Thy  deeds,  as  incense,  rise  above  man's  fall  ! 
So  wisdom  redes :  but  man  is  feeling's  thrall, 
30 


LAYS     AND 

Shudders  to  part  from  gifts  and  blessings  shrined 
In  his  unfathomed  soul,  and,  most,  to  call 
In  vain,  along  the  boundless  realms  of  mind, 
For  them  who  were  his  bliss  mid  thankless  humankind. 

In  the  grey  dawn  of  Time,  when  high  decrees 
Were  uttered  by  each  bosom's  pulse  of  pride, 
When  waters  and  dim  woods  had  deities, 
Oreads  in  the  air  and  tritons  on  the  tide, 
And  Nature's  spirits  o'er  the  heart  did  glide 
Like  most  familiar  friends — each  thought  and  deed 
Lifted  exulting  man,  and  purified 
The  stain  and  taint  of  crime,  till  all  his  creed 
Was  love  to  being's  God  and  charity  in  need. 

With  what  a  passion,  through  all  human  things, 
Frail  hearts  have  panted  in  their  pain  to  know 
The  mysteries  that  fold  their  midnight  wings 
Around  the  daring  spirit !  but  earth's  woe, 
Like  the  lone  upas  fountain's  poison  flow, 
Utters  alone  the  oracles  that  thrill 
The  soul,  and,  like  the  moaning  ocean's  glow. 
Quiver  along  the  waves  of  good  and  ill, 
That  rush  towards  the  gulph  where  all  is  cold  and  still. 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS.  285 

Inspired  by  grief,  and  guided  by  lone  love, 
The  seers  and  sages  of  a  better  time 
Gave  beauty  to  the  dead  in  every  grove, 
And  household  sanctity  in  every  clime, 
And  fellowship  and  faith  and  hope  sublime. 
The  deeds  of  years  were,  as  Love's  offering  given, 
To  the  dread  manes  of  their  sires,  and  crime 
Fled  from  the  Dead's  Tribunal,  wildly  driven, — 
Daring  not  souls  on  earth  whose  home  and  throne  were 
heaven. 

Thus  intellect  and  feeling  gave  to  form 

Undying  action  ;  to  the  eye  and  brow 

The  shadows  of  divinity ;  thus  warm 

From  the  deep  fount  came  thoughts  that  lift  us  now 

From  earth,  and  wreathe  our  hopes  with  heaven's  own 

bow  ! 

Thus  could  our  living  meditations  dwell 
On  doom,  left  fearless  by  the  light  and  flow 
Of  life  and  hearthlight  commune,  Death's  farewell 
Might  on  the  closing  ear  like  songs  of  seraphs  swell ! 


LAYS    AN  I)     LEGENDS. 


THE    SACHEM'S    CHANT. 

The  Mohican-hittuck*  rolls  grandly  by, 

Mid  the  bloom  of  the  earth  and  the  beam  of  the  sky, 

And  its  waters  are  blue  and  bright  and  blest 

As  the  realms  of  the  Red  Man's  god  of  rest, 

And  the  gentle  music,  they  leave  along, 

Is  an  echoed  strain  of  the  spirit's  song. 

The  Mohican-hittuck  glides  softly  on, 

Like  holy  thoughts  o'er  the  glorious  gone, 

And  the  sigh  of  the  stream,  through  forests  dim, 

Blends  with  the  wind  in  their  twilight  hymn, — 

While  the  shadows  are  folding  round  rock  and  height. 

And  the  dead  are  abroad  on  the  wings  of  night. 

'  * 

The  Mohican-hittuck  sweeps  darkly  past, 
Like  the  storm  of  death  o'er  the  Red  Man  cast ; 
And  the  gathering  tempest  o'er  earth  and  sky 
Reveals  our  doom  to  the  prophet's  eye — 
The  exile's  lot — the  slave's  despair — 
The  darkened  sunbeam  and  poisoned  air ! 

*  The  aboriginal  name  of  the  Hudson  River. 


LAYS     AND     i;  E  GENUS. 

The  Mohican-hittuck's  shore  replied, 

When  its  suns  roamed  free  in  their  warrior  pride, 

To  the  harvest  song,  to  the  seedtime  mirth, 

And  the  bridal  bliss  on  the  blooming  earth  : — 

We  breathe  not  a  beam  of  sun  or  star, 

For  dark  is  the  brow  of  YOHEWAH  ! 

Where  Mohican-hittuck  mid  isles  careers, 

•* 

And  meets  with  a  smile  the  salt  Lake's  tears, 
The  White  Man's  barque,  like  a  windgod,  hung, 
And  the  powwahs  to  welcome  it  danced  and  sung  ; 
For  the  lands  we  gave  to  the  stranger  we  reapt 
Plague,  poison  and  madness — and  warriors  wept ! 

The  Mohican-hittuck — our  own  proud  river — 
The  glorious  gift  of  the  Spirit  giver, 
Bears  on  its  bosom  the  booty  won 
From  the  slaughtered  chieftain's  banished  son, 
And  the  paleface  Sage,  ere  he  meets  his  God, 
Would  mark  with  our  blood  the  path  he  trod. 

The  Mohican-hittuck's  hills  have  heard 
The  Indian's  thoughts  as  his  spirit  stirred, 
And,  even  now,  thy  waves  grow  dim, 
River  !  as  awful  memories  swim, 


237 


238  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

Like  the  Wielder's  bolts,  on  an  autumn  even, 
O'er  the  billowy  clouds  of  a  wrathful  heaven. 

The  Mohican-hittuck's  secret  dells 

Feel  the  Indian's  breath  as  it  pants  and  swells, 

And  every  wood  on  its  banks  returns 

The  shriek  of  the  heart  as  it  slowly  burns ! 

The  ghosts  of  my  fathers  like  giants  appear, 

And  the  shades  of  the  weak  ones  in  sorrow  and  fear. 

,r.|'jM;    .i;'/:!,v:  ,'.     r    •>&;    ,*,     :.•;.,;     ;.'Ki:i£    9-IJii 

Oh,  Mohican-hittuck — the  wave  of  my  birth ! 

The  loveliest  stream  that  laves  the  green  earth ! 

ELOHA  calls  me  and  ROWAII  replies — 

I  leave  thee,  blue  stream  !  for  the  wild  mountain  skies. 

Yet  fast  as  thy  waves  to  the  ocean  advance, 

Will  thy  bloom  and  thy  gleam  o'er  my  lone  spirit  glance. 

Oh,  Mohican-hittuck  !  no  more  by  thy  stream 
Shall  the  forms  of  the  slain  like  icy  lights  gleam ; 
No  longer  the  voice  from  the  bosom  of  glory 
Gather  grandeur  and  wisdom  to  learn  their  proud  story. 
Twice  vanish  the  Nations  from  realms  of  the  west, 
And  Vengeance  shall  start  from  the  home  of  our  rest ! 


LAYS     AND     LEG  UN  US.  239 


WALTER    COLEBROOKE.— A  TALE. 

High  minded  he  was  ever,  and  improvident, 
But  pitiful  and  generous  to  a  fault — 
Pleasure  he  loved,  but  honor  was  his  idol. 

LILLO. 

During  his  better,  and  my  childish  days,  when  the 
voice  of  pure  affection  sounded  in  my  soul  like  the  music 
of  paradise,  none  of  those  related  to  me  by  blood  or  mar 
riage,  inspired  such  love  and  admiration  as  Walter  Cole- 
brooke.  His  father,  a  genuine  specimen  of  New  England 
character,  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  Pilgrims,  who 
dared  the  danger  of  the  ocean  and  suffered  the  priva 
tions  of  the  wilderness  to  escape  the  ordeal  of  bigotry 
and  the  star-chamber  judgments  of  political  exaction,  yet 
sullied  the  triumph  of  faith  by  their  own  relentless  in 
tolerance.  Bred  in  the  severe  discipline  of  the  Plymouth 
exiles,  and  devoted  by  the  inculcated  habits  of  many 
years  to  restriction  and  self-denial,  he  found  himself  the 
possessor  of  large  domains  and  liberal  influence,  when 
Walter,  his  eldest  son,  shot  up  to  manhood.  But  the  ha 
bitual  practice  of  economy  had  closed  the  avenues  of  his 
heart  to  open-handed  benevolence,  and  his  perpetual  re 
ply  to  applicants  for  charitable  relief  had  long  been  with 
him  a  motto  and  an  axiom  :  "  none  need  to  beg  who  are 
able  to  work,  and  the  parish  can  support  those  who  are 
not."  Yet,  with  little  aid  from  education,  his  mind  was 
strong,  clear-sighted  and  active :  and  where  his  prejudices 
did  not  counteract  its  better  purposes,  ample  in  its  attach 
ments  and  operations.  They,  who  gain  wealth  by  per 
sonal  toil,  are  slow  to  extend  their  sympathies ;  what 


240  LA.YS     AN1>     LEGENDS. 

they  have  done,  it  is  too  often  taught,  others  may  as  easily 
do.  Proud  of  the  power  their  industry  has  created,  they 
pause  not  to  weigh  the  circumstances  which  have  con 
tributed  to  their  success  ;  and  hence  the  harsh  and  sud 
den  decisions  so  frequently  pronounced  against  the  un 
fortunate.  His  nature  was  originally  gifted  with  enlarged 
and  deep  affections ;  the  happiness  of  his  family  was  al 
ways  paramount  even  to  his  predominant  passion  of  in 
crease,  and  any  exhibition  of  defective  mental  powers  in 
his  children  excited  in  his  mind  the  most  vivid  concern. 
Yet  his  vehement,  and  sometimes  unreasoning  tempera 
ment  unfolded  a  universe  of  caprice,  and  his  common 
self-control  gave  way  before  any  real  or  imaginary  at 
tempt  to  govern  or  cajole  him,  like  gossamer  before  the 
hurricane.  In  affairs  of  business,  he  scorned  to  be  accu 
sed  of  what  the  world  calls  a  good  bargain  ;  and,  while 
he  never  disgraced  himself  by  seizing  an  advantage  over 
the  necessities  or  inexperience  of  others,  his  profoundest 
malediction  followed  any  falsehood  inflicted  upon  himself. 
Quick  in  thought  and  feeling,  prompt  and  effective  in  ac 
tion  ;  anxious  to  accumulate,  yet  detesting  dishonour  in 
all  his  enterprises ;  easily  irritated  to  the  very  wildness 
of  indignation,  yet  placable  to  the  slightest  apology ;  af 
fable  to  his  inferiors,  but  never  familiar  with  his  equals  ; 
passionately  devoted  to  the  cause,  religious  or  political, 
which  he  had  once  espoused,  and  incautiously  disdainful 
of  all  opposed  opinions ;  the  elder  Colebrooke  enjoyed  in 
the  township  he  inhabited,  a  preponderating  influence  and 
authority,  which,  in  defiance  of  factious  antagonists,  his 
intellectual  energies  had  secured  and  held  with  an  unre- 
laxing  grasp.  Though  he  never  suffered  advice,  yet  his 
counsel  was  often  requested;  and,  when  homage  was 


LAYS      A  JV  1>    LEGEN  DS. 

thus  rendered  to  his  pride,  his  heart  readily  listened  to 
the  suggestions  of  benevolence.  His  strong  virtues  great 
ly  exceeded  all  his  faults  ;  his  firm  and  consistent  inde 
pendence  excluded  any  ignoble  thought ;  his  knowledge 
of  the  world  became  the  wisdom  of  the  young  and  the 
guide  of  the  enterprising ;  many  failed  not  to  utter  his 
name  in  love,  and  all  conceded  to  his  powers  their  faith 
ful  admiration. 

The  son  of  such  a  sire,  it  is  not  to  be  imagined  that 
Walter  should  approach  responsible  manhood  without 
exciting  many  anticipations  in  the  hearts  of  marriageable 
maidens  and  sagacious  disposers  of  dispensable  incum- 
brances.  Lofty  and  erect  in  stature,  almost  faultless  in 
his  proportions,  of  handsome  and  intelligent  features,  and, 
for  his  advantages,  not  displeasing  in  his  address ;  young 
Colebrooke  added  to  his  personal  attractions,  the  certain 
prospect  of  a  good  establishment  in  a  pleasant,  populated 
and  prolific  country.  His  rivals  beheld  his  approach  with 
envy,  and  his  departure  with  satisfaction ;  none  could  as 
sail  his  character  for  integrity  and  Smalltalk,  deny  his 
fortune  or  his  judgment  in  ribbons  and  trinkets,  or  impair 
his  beauty  and  his  knowledge  of  beauty  in  others  by  af 
fected  indifference  or  condemning  approbation.  The  un 
married  were  sensible  of  his  merits,  for  he  adored  their 
charms,  and  the  matrons  exulted  in  his  wealth,  for  their 
resources  were  exhausted.  Parties  were  given  to  one 
who  had  society  enough  without  them,  and  festivals  pro 
vided  for  him  who  needed  not  their  gifts.  The  maimed 
and  crippled  soldier  of  the  Revolution  gazed  from  the 
poorest  window  of  the  poorhouse  upon  designing  pro 
fusion,  a  moiety  of  which  would  have  rendered  his  last 
days  happy.  The  deceived  and  despised  fair  one  beheld 

31 


~  LAYS     AND    LEGEND!". 

from  the  deserted  hut  of  her  penury,  her  frail,  though  not 
fallen  sisters,  pursuing,  under  the  presence  of  their  mo 
thers,  the  same  race,  which,  with  her,  had  so  fatally  end 
ed.  While  his  eye  wandered  without  fixing  on  a  hated 
object,  Walter  was  the  idol  of  all ;  each  might  be  the 
chosen  one,  and,  therefore,  the  whole  artillery  of  female 
fascination  was  called  into  incessant  action.  The  desired 
and  intended  consequences,  however,  were  not  apparent; 
for,  shocked  at  the  indelicacy  which  could  solicit  attach 
ment,  and  the  unequivocal  invitation  that  anticipated  a 
preference,  Colebrooke  retired  from  his  previous  gaiety, 
and  returned  protestations  of  friendship  with  chilling  ci 
vility. 

But,  though  offended  propriety  thus  guided  him  free 
from  the  female  snares  around  him,  the  infatuation  of  love 
soon  plunged  him  into  less  retrievable  disasters.  Pos 
sessed,  as  he  was,  of  envied  attractions,  high  respectabili 
ty  of  family  and  person,  wealth,  intelligence  and  manly 
grace,  poor  Walter,  like  many  a  wiser  and  greater  man, 
deserted  the  highway  of  wisdom  and  happiness,  and,  by 
an  uncalculated  reliance  on  external  charms,  unaccompa 
nied  by  discretion  or  industry,  or  individual  excellence, 
sealed  his  miserable  fate  beyond  the  redemption  of  man. 
Not  all  the  philosophers,  divines,  and  system-makers  on 
earth  can  give  a  rational  explanation  of  the  power  of 
beauty.  That  a  peculiar  regularity  of  feature,  transpa 
rency  of  skin  and  symmetry  of  form  should  atone  for 
the  absence  of  intellect — that  mere  animal  loveliness 
(imago  imaginis)  should  usurp  the  appointed  place  of 
mind,  is  a  phenomenon  insolvable  by  any  demonstration 
in  earthly  mathematics.  That  fact  in  every  ago  has  dis 
countenanced  all  theory  on  this  inexplicable  subject ;  that 


LAYS     A  N  D    L  E  G  E  N  P  S.  243 

the  glance  of  vivacity  or  intrigue  has  ever  disordered  the 
calm  eye  of  wisdom  ;  and  that  headlong  youth  has  been, 
and  ever  will  be  misled  by  deceptive  appearances,  are 
positions  sufficiently  confirmed  by  bitter  experience — and 
these  truths  are  all  we  know. 

In  the  midst  of  the  still  unslumbering  agitations  pro 
duced  by  the  prospects  and  character  of  Walter — when 
many  a  wishful  eye  yet  secretly  watched  his  unguarded 
hours,  and  many  a  heart  fluttered  at  the  thought  of  even 
remote  success, — he,  unconscious  of  the  destiny  that  hur 
ried  him  on  to  destruction,  beheld  with  a  delighted  eye — 
Elizabeth  Forrester. 

The  only  daughter  of  a  country  clergyman,  who  united 
to  latitudinarian  belief  the  indulgencies  of  a  bon  vivant, 
and  the  exemptions  of  a  man  of  the  world,  she  was  dis 
ciplined  according  to  her  own  propensities  ;  and  bred  up 
in  an  overweening  idolatry,  which  magnified  the  mani 
festation  of  a  virtue  into  confirmed  and  matchless  excel 
lence  ;  and  she  passed  the  rapid  growth  and  energy  of 
vice,  not  only  unreprehended,  but  unobserved.  Her  edu 
cation  was  committed  to  the  guidance  of  destiny,  and  her 
morals  to  the  instruction  of  a  mother  without  mind,  and 
a  father  without  piety.  1  never  saw  a  beauty  uncon 
scious  of  her  flattered  loveliness,  nor  an  heiress  insensible 
to  the  fascination  of  gold.  Sentimental  inventors  of  cha 
racter  and  creators  of  opinions  may  picture  the  indwellers 
of  their  Utopias  as  they  will,  but  real  life  presents  no 
faultless  monster — no  prodigy  of  perfection ;  fiction  may 
indulge  its  dreams,  but  truth  must  dwell  with  reality. 
The  rouge-and-pearl  face  of  Elizabeth,  in  her  own  eyes, 
and  those  of  her  deluded  parents,  was  an  authentic  pass 
port  to  fame  and  fortune — a  living,  breathing,  irresistible 


5244  LAYS     ANT)    LEGENDS. 

Iris  of  light  and  glory.  She  was  exhibited,  even  in  her 
childish  days,  and  lauded  by  luxurious  deacons,  soft-eyed 
elders  and  spotless  ministers  of  truth — and  after-dinner 
spirituous  tribulation — till  repeated  praises  palled  upon 
her  inordinate  appetite,  and  the  English  vocabulary  sup 
plied  no  new  appellations  of  sickening  endearment  to 
soothe  her  fretted  humor  or  pacify  her  rage  at  petty  dis 
appointment.  She  was  forbidden  to  exercise  for  health, 
lest  a  change  of  temperature  should  diminish  her  graces, 
though  she  seldom  recovered  her  lacerated  laces  from  the 
boughs  of  trees  or  the  depth  of  ditches,  where  she  had 
rivalled  the  rudeness  of  vagabond  urchins,  and  exceeded 
even  the  perverse  pauper-boy  in  his  capacity  of  mischief. 
All  necessary  knowledge  of  household  duties  was  inter 
dicted,  by  the  fear  that  her  delicacy  of  complexion  might 
be  affected  by  the  heat  and  exhalations  of  the  kitchen. 
Any  requisite  system  of  study  implied  constraint  and 
some  positive  exertion  of  the  intellectual  faculties ;  and 
the  roses  of  her  full  fair  cheek  might  fade  over  the  de 
tested  volume,  and  her  large  black  slumbering  eyes  grow 
dim  over  dusty  and  useless  lore.  Nature  was  her  coun 
sellor,  guide,  friend  and  instructor ;  all  that  issued  from 
that  holy  fountain,  must  be  pure — every  gleam  of  that 
sun  must  be  brightness.  The  spontaneous  vegetation  of 
the  natural  world  was  ever  luxuriant,  and  even  weeds  il 
lustrated  the  richness  of  the  soil  ;  so,  her  thoughts  were 
left  to  her  own  cultivation,  and  her  passions  permitted  to 
tyrannize  over  her  without  opposition.  Thus  she  grew 
up  with  a  consummate  knowledge  of  her  own  desires,  a 
thorough  conviction  of  her  own  irresistible  beauty  and  its 
contemplated  consequences,  and  a  finished  recklessness 
of  her  own  honor  while  her  ambition  was  gratified  ;  and 


LAYS     AND    LEGENDS.  245 

that  of  her  family,  so  that  her  frailty  was  undiscovered. 
The  tyrant  and  slave  of  her  own  will,  the  rules  of  her 
actions  were  expediency  and  probable  success,  their  mo 
tives,  the  temporary  pleasure  which  springs  from  the  in 
fringement  of  propriety  and  morals,  and  their  effects,  her 
own  degradation  and  despair  and  the  ruin  of  all  allied  to 
her  fate. 

That  disregard  of  all  opinions,  upon  which  she  acted, 
was  readily  mistaken  by  Colebrooke,  during  his  first  in 
terview,  for  a  generous  frankness  of  disposition;  her 
freedom  of  manner  and  expression  resulted,  he  did  not 
doubt,  from  abhorrence  of  hypocrisy :  and  the  visible  re 
luctance  she  displayed  to  engage  on  any  topic  of  rational 
conversation,  might  justly  flow  from  modest  distrust  and 
dread  of  exhibition;  so  easily  are  our  vices  believed  to 
be  our  virtues,  our  unregulated  passions,  the  best  princi 
ples  of  the  heart,  our  ignorance,  the  retiring  bashfulness 
of  enlarged  information,  and  the  utter  want  of  most  of 
the  good  qualities  of  human  beings,  the  certain  means  of 
bending  the  knowledge  and  virtues  of  another  to  our  own 
purposes. 

The  fiery  arrows  of  love  penetrated  the  heart  of  poor 
Walter,  and  through  the  secret  mansions  of  that  myste 
rious  world  scattered  their  rapid  splendor.  With  a  vi 
vid,  streaming,  aurora  light,  they  flew  from  thought  to 
thought,  quivered  and  shot  along  the  electric  chain  of  the 
highest  and  most  engrossing  passion  of  the  spirit.  Deep- 
felt  affection,  acting  upon  an  undisguised  and  impetuous 
temperament,  on  the  one  side,  and  an  indelicate  scheming 
ambition  of  affluent  wedlock  on  the  other,  interposed  few 
impediments  to  a  sudden  and  irrevocable  declaration. 
Betrothed  and  blessed  by  the  reverend  father  of  Elizabeth, 


246  LAYS     AND    LEGENDS. 

whose  insidious  and  unslumbering  ambition  would  be  ac 
complished  by  the  union  of  Colebrooke's  wealth  with  his 
ministerial  power ;  the  hearts  of  both  the  lovers  glowed 
with  joy,  though  the  sources  of  their  emotions  were  as 
far  asunder  as  the  nadir  and  the  zenith.  Passionately  at 
tached  himself,  Walter  could  not  fail  to  attribute  the  same 
degree  of  affection  to  his  companion,  while  she  was  less 
delighted  at  the  triumphs  of  any  feelings  of  the  heart 
than  the  undelayed  accomplishment  of  her  interested  de 
signs.  Still,  even  yet,  he  might  retract  his  faith  and  leave 
her  to  the  scorn  of  educated  girls  who  had  nothing  bet 
ter  to  boast  of  than  antiquated  virtue  and  vulgar  informa 
tion  in  literature  and  domestic  avocations  ;  therefore,  she 
continued  to  disguise  her  various  capabilities  and  in 
heritances  beneath  the  mask  of  mildness,  modesty  and 
unambitious  happiness. 

The  lovers  were  wandering,  at  twilight,  along  the  banks 
of  one  of  those  nameless,  gleaming  and  lonely  rivulets 
which  diversify,  like  gems  of  the  wilderness,  the  pictu 
resque  and  inspiring  scenery  of  our  land.  The  mind  of 
Colebrooke  glowed  with  deep,  earnest,  hallowed  thoughts  ; 
and  filled  with  the  spirit  of  young  love,  he  poured  forth 
the  passion  of  his  soul. 

"  Look,  Elizabeth !"  said  he,  "  the  clouds  are  burning  in 
adoration  around  the  altar  of  the  sun,  and  the  waters  are 
sending  up  the  music  of  their  evening  hymn.  How  glo 
riously  this  sunset  light  glances  upon  the  autumnal  woods 
and  seems  to  breathe  around  their  dying  hour  the  hope  of 
their  rural  greenness.  How  beautifully  the  reflected  ra 
diance  falls  upon  those  many  colored  leaves — as  the  sun 
beams  of  the  enamored  heart  illumine  the  thousand  ob 
jects  of  life !  Is  it  not  thus,  Elizabeth,  that  love  elevates 


LAYS     AND    LEGENDS.  247 

and  beautifies  every  idea  and  emotion,  and  raises  us  above 
the  low  conflicts  and  animosities  of  existence  ?" 

"  Yes !"  she  replied  in  affected  abstraction,  "yes,  I  think 
as  you  do,  Walter."  "  And  see,"  he  continued,  "the  rose- 
hues  are  fading  now  and  dusky  grey  pervades  the  path  of 
that  late  glory  ;  but,  to  atone  for  this  sudden  dimness,  the 
stars  are  coming  forth  in  the  depths  and  the  crescent 
hangs  in  the  western  heavens,  like  the  saint's  trust  in  God 
around  the  fainting  and  dying  heart." 

"  Indeed  'tis  very  delicate  and  pretty — but,  it  is  getting 
damp  and  chill."  Colebrooke  made  no  reply  ;  his  mind 
was  too  much  excited  to  allow  any  outward  inconve 
nience,  even  had  it  existed,  to  affect  his  higher  thoughts ; 
but,  attributing  Elizabeth's  want  of  participation  in  his 
feelings  to  what  is  called,  enigmatically,  indisposition,  he 
turned  and  retraced  his  way  to  the  parsonage,  still  unsus 
piciously  discoursing  on  the  loveliness  of  the  scenery,  the 
majesty  of  nature  and  the  sublime  conceptions  which  the 
works  of  Providence  inspire.  Elizabeth,  meanwhile,  ex 
ulting  in  her  adroit  deception  and  management,  smiled  in 
her  secret  soul  at  the  pedantic  display,  the  puritanical 
feelings,  and  romantic  sentiments  of  her  doomed  lover,  re 
solving  that  marriage  should  eradicate  all  thought,  feel 
ing,  enterprise  and  enjoyment,  except  that  which  con 
tributed  to  her  personal  pleasure.  The  hour  of  such  a 
doom  was  not  remote.  I  cannot  pause  to  delineate  the 
details — the  minutiae  of  an  illusion  which  was  destined  to 
dissolve,  like  every  human  anticipation,  in  storms  and 
tears.  Love  owns  no  responsibility  to  reason  or  the  fit 
ness  of  things  ;  excited  passion,  determined  to  enjoy  its 
object,  is  as  unprepared  to  listen  to  remonstrance  as  is 
the  observer  to  describe  its  hurried  operations.  He  who 


--} s  LAYS     AND    LEGENDS. 

toils  under  intense  agitation,  is  unfitted  to  compare  and 
analyze  the  feelings  which  have  dominion  over  him :  he 
cannot  number  the  deadly  throbs  of  a  heart  that  almost 
suffocates  ;  he  cannot  reckon  the  strokes  of  the  death- 
bell  !  It  is  only  when  grief,  ambition,  love  or  pleasure  is 
past  that  it  can  be  described  as  it  has  been  felt ;  when  sa 
tiety  succeeds  the  drugged  and  destroying  bowl,  the  ter 
ror,  involved  in  its  power,  may  be  pictured  to  the  mind  ; 
when  safety  follows  peril,  the  mind  is  free  to  unfold  the 
doubts  and  agonies  of  the  torture. 

Courtship  ended  and  marriage  was  consummated. 
The  elder  Colebrooke  was  a  man  of  sterling  sense  and  ex 
tensive  reach  of  thought ;  he  cherished  no  idle  ambition 
of  isolated  grandeur,  exclusive  prerogative  and  personal 
aristocracy. — He  remembered  well  the  wants,  the  wast- 
ings,  the  convulsions  of  the  Revolution,  and  was  well 
assured  that  all  constitutions  and  edicts  were  vain,  if  once 
Liberty  were  invaded  by  marked  and  impassable  distinc 
tions.  Resolved  that,  instead  of  living  as  worthless  pro 
fligates,  as  fools  or  knaves,  on  the  patient  accumulations 
of  his  industry,  his  sons  should  deserve  prosperity  by  ac 
tive  occupations  ;  he  desired  no  more,  when  Walter  asked 
his  consent  to  his  nuptials,  than  an  assurance  of  mutual 
affection  and  a  promise  of  steady  industry.  The  old  gen 
tleman  seemed  happy  in  the  contemplation  of  loveliness 
which  would  have  fascinated  his  youthful  imagination  ; 
and,  amid  his  sanguine  felicitations,  found  himself  unable 
to  reprove  the  precipitancy  of  his  son's  marriage,  though 
Walter  had  not  attained  his  twentieth  year,  arid  his  suit 
had  terminated  in  two  months.  Amidst  the  hilarious  fes 
tivities  of  that  celebration — even  the  commonplace  occur 
rences  of  feeding  and  excitation — salutation  of  rosy  lips 


LAVS     A  N  D    L  E  G  E  IS \  If  S. 

that  breathed  melody  and  bliss  and  the  sincere  but  vain 
prognostications  of  future  joy  which  were  uttered  over 
the  brimming  goblet — no  ascetic  could  indulge  morose 
forebodings  or  even  involuntary  despondency.  The  ex 
hilarated  spirits  of  the  assembled  youth  rose  and  fell 
like  the  moonlight  sea  when  the  rapid  tides  are  waves  of 
light,  upon  the  elder  portion  of  the  throng,  as  they  stood 
in  groups  contemplating  the  varied  amusements,  and  im 
parted  to  the  gravity  and  thoughtfulness  of  age  a  glimpse 
of  the  rapture  felt  in  the  Eden  hours  of  being.  Each  fa 
ther  of  the  settlement  summoned  back  the  well  remem 
bered  time  when  his  hope  was  as  bright,  his  memory  as 
beautiful  and  his  ecstacy  as  thrilling  as  those  of  the  reck 
less  youth  who  laughed  and  danced  before  him  now ;  and, 
if  he  could  not  participate  in  pleasures  which  his  stern 
experience  had  shown  to  be  not  only  evanescent  and  un 
satisfactory  in  their  being,  but  attended  by  exhaustion  and 
followed  by  disrelish  of  all  ordinary  happiness,  he  check 
ed  not  the  overflow  of  genial  natures  nor  personated  the 
prophet  of  evil  to  fallible  creatures  whose  fortune  must 
abound  with  trial.  The  ancients  of  the  humble  village 
which  is  the  scene  of  this  true  tale,  were  no  believers  in 
that  bigoted  austerity  of  manner  which  conceals,  for  a 
time,  the  corruptions  and  corrosions  of  vice,  and  imparts, 
beneath  the  shadows  of  hypocrisy,  a  transitory  sanctity 
to  the  persons  and  names  of  the  profligate.  Their  meet 
inghouse  creed  was  stern,  unchangeable  and  merciless  ; 
but  the  intercourse  of  general  society  was  modified  and 
mellowed  by  purer  and  loftier  humanities  than  are,  com 
monly,  promulgated  from  the  pulpit.  They  believed  that, 
cheerful  recreation  was  better  than  damning  intolerance ; 
that  the  God  of  Mercy  was  not  to  be  adored  amidst  the 

32 


250  LAYS     AN »    LEGENDS. 

ashes  of  human  sacrifice  ;  that  the  smile  of  Aglaia  was  ho 
lier  than  the  frown  of  Jove ;  that  consistent  and  habitual 
benevolence  was  more  acceptable  than  a  thousand  holo 
causts.  In  the  far  depth  of  the  vale  of  time,  when  all 
their  departed  opinions,  perhaps  tainted  by  malevolence, 
and  all  their  bitter  thoughts,  irged  relentlessly  against  less 
powerful  but  more  blameless  minds,  stood,  like  panoplied 
giants,  upon  the  hills  around  to  warn  them  of  past  error, 
they  were  too  sadly  assured  that  mercy  wins  more  than 
justice  com  pels, 'that  revenge  is  baffled  where  forgiveness 
triumphs,  and  that,  as  Love  is  the  consolation  of  death,  so 
remorse — the  Tantalus  of  the  heart — is  the  eternal  penal 
ty  of  the  unpitying  sectarian. 

In  the  vigor  of  his  frame  and  the  brightness  of  his  days, 
young  Colebrooke  entered  as  master  the  ample  and  prolific 
possessions  bestowed  by  his  father ;  and,  for  a  time,  enjoyed 
with  his  beautiful  bride  that  surpassing  happiness  which,  in 
its  transient  glimpses,  reveals  to  us  imaginations  of  that 
bright,  pure  and  unending  bliss  assured  to  the  GOOD  in  a 
happier  world.  A  hallowed  and  delicious  romance — -the 
sacred  fervor  of  an  untainted  heart,  which  has  known  little 
of  the  anxieties,  degradations,  and  indignities  of  the  world — 
its  vassal  arrogance — its  consuming  obloquy — its  wasting 
cares  and  apathy  and  despair — insinuated  itself  into  every 
daily  and  hourly  event.  To  a  superficial  and  uninterested 
observer,  there  was  much  to  admire  in  Elizabeth  ;  nature 
had  not  been  niggard  in  original  capacities  of  learning  and 
excellence ;  in  the  gayest  and  least  generous  communities 
she  would  not  have  passed  without  ardent  praise.  Add  to 
this,  that  Walter  loved  her  with  a  fidelity  and  profoundness 
of  feeling  scarcely  within  the  comprehension  of  the  world, 
and  the  source  of  his  present  rapture  will  be  visible  to  all 
who  have  united  quickness  of  thought  with  beneficence  of 
heart,  and  purity  with  expansion  of  intellect. 


LAYS     AX  I)    I,  EG  12  M>  S.  251 

The  venerable  and  ample  dwelling  of  the  elder  Cole- 
brooke  stood  upon  the  summit  of  Koyshill — a  commanding 
eminence  amidst  a  land  of  mountains ;  that  of  his  son  Waiter 
was  situated  in  the  centre  of  a  rich  meadowland,  some  miles 
to  the  south  of  the  little,  idle,  busy,  bustling  and  unprofitable 
village  of  Western,  where  the  great  mass  of  idea  and  sym 
pathy  was  generously  bestowed  upon  the  concerns  of  the 
well-guarded  individuals,  and  no  one  lacked  his  portion  of 
judicious  moral  scrutiny.  Mark's  precipitous  and  rugged 
mountain  and  the  meandering  river  Chicapee  intervened  ; 
and,  many  a  time,  when  I  have  been  despatched  on  messages 
from  sire  to  son,  have  I  climbed  the  jagged  rocks  and  gazed, 
with  thrilling  anticipations,  over  the  distant  hills  and  valleys 
which  lay  between  me  and  the  knowledge  for  which  my 
spirit  panted,  burned  and  agonized.  Many  a  time  have  I 
daringly  leapt  from  rock  to  rock  across  the  rapid  and  tu 
multuous  channels  of  my  native  stream,  and  thought  I  would 
confront  direr  dangers  in  the  world  for  a  less  reward  than 
nature  gave  me.  With  loneliness  comes  reflection,  and, 
with  that,  knowledge  of  our  powers,  but  misfortune  alone 
can  teach  us  to  use  them  rightly  in  the  achievements  of 
ambition.  From  his  new  abode  Walter  could  contemplate 
diversified  and  enchanting  scenery.  The  sterility  of  his 
mountain  woodlands  was  pleasantly  contrasted  by  the  vivid 
verdare  and  generous  harvests  of  his  cornfields  and  pas 
tures  ;  his  house  was  furnished  in  a  style  superior  to  his 
rank ;  his  farm-yard  presented  noble  and  fatted  flocks — those 
domestic  animals  which  so  strongly  remind  us  of  home  and 
comfort — and  the  very  first  season  of  his  independent  cul 
tivation  gladdened  his  toil  by  sevenfold  fruits. 

The  birth  of  a  son  seemed  to  confirm  his  happiness ;  so 
surely  does  that,  which  appears  the  consummation  of  bliss, 
eventuate  in  the  darkness  of  desolation.  Liberal  and  affec 
tionate  to  no  ordinary  degree,  he  had  always  attributed 


252  LAVS     A  N  1)    1,  E  «  K  MJ  .«. 

Elizabeth's  reluctance  to  discharge  household  duties  to  the 
lassitude  of  an  invalid,  not  the  careless  indolence  of  an  un 
principled  woman ;  and  he  had  provided,  at  an  expense 
scarcely  known  during  that  and  indeed  the  present  period 
of  JVew  England  toil,  privation  and  simplicity,  domestics, 
not  only  to  relieve  her  from  exertion,  but  to  direct  the  af 
fairs  of  the  family.  His  engrossed  and  fervent  afieclion 
permitted  him  not  to  see  that  what  he  considered  illness  was 
incapacity  and  disinclination,  and  that  the  festival  profusion 
andpersonal  extravagance  in  which  his  wife  indulged,  were 
little  calculated  to  win  the  regard  of  the  wise  or  determine 
the  respect  of  those  who  looked  not  to  the  outward  form 
alone.  Still  less,  these  inauspicious  displays  contributed  to 
his  worldly  prosperity  and  private  peace,  Mrs.  Colebrooke 
was  too  refined  to  desire  or  permit  the  presence  of  her  hus 
band,  heated  and  covered  with  the  dust  of  the  field,  in  the 
vicinity  of  her  fashionable  assemblies ;  and  he,  whose  daily 
labor  was  thus  uselessly  expended,  failed  to  share  in  the 
festivities  of  the  gay,  though  he  commanded  the  admiration 
and  respect  of  the  wise.  Walter  knew  that  he  had  received 
his  share  of  his  father's  wealth,  and  he  well  knew  too,  that 
his  existing  habits  of  expense  would  more  than  exhaust  all 
the  profits  of  his  unceasing  labor  ;  but  he  would  not  suffer 
his  knowledge  to  dwell  upon  circumstances  which  reflected 
the  slightest  reproach  upon  his  adored  Elizabeth.  Jn  that 
hour  so  memorable  and  sacred  to  a  parent,  when  his  first 
born  child  was  presented  to  him,  and  his  thrilled  though  un- 
prophetic  heart  glowed  with  the  ineffable  conviction  that  he 
was  a  father — perhaps,  the  progenitor  of  a  famed  and  honor 
ed  race — the  youthful  ancestor  of  a  gifted  and  powerful  peo 
ple,  who  would  shrine  his  name  in  the  temple  of  their  wor 
ship  and  revere  his  memory  as  the  palladium  of  their  rights — 
he  almost  accused  himself,  amidst  his  deep  happiness,  of  se 
rious  crime  in  permitting  a  suspicion  of  Elizabeth's  match- 


LAYS     AND    LEGENDS. 

less  excellence  to  invade  his  better  mind.  His  generous 
and  delighted  spirit  suggested  many  apologies  and  pallia 
tions  for  apparent  neglect  and  costly  vanity  ;  "  she  had  been 
bred  in  extreme  indulgence;  she  had  been  unrestrained  in  her 
tastes,  dispositions  and  propensities:  She  had  been  among 
the  young  without  a  rival,  and  the  aged  had  called  her  their 
idol.  Time  would  change  her  inclinations,  allay  the  uncal- 
eulating  exuberance  of  feeling,  and,  through  the  imperative 
duties  of  a  mother,  lead  her  to  forego  the  dissipations  of 
general  society  for  the  infantile  fascinations  of  domestic 
life.  Her  child  would  be  alike  her  ambition  and  her  bliss. 
The  tender  sanctities,  which  her  new  relations  involved, 
would  crown  her  utmost  desire  of  distinction  and  consum 
mate  the  besthopes  which  his  sanguine  nature  had  indulged." 

Thus  reasoned  the  slave  and  victim  of  a  vain  hope — the 
deceived,  the  self-deceived  sacrifice  of  infamy  and  guilt. 
He  trusted  in  treachery,  he  cast  his  naked  heart  upon  the 
altar  of  shame — he  offered  up  his  highest  and  holiest  thoughts 
to  a  devouring  crocodile.  Passion  became  his  aliment ;  he 
feasted  on  luxurious  poison  ;  he  dissolved  the  priceless  pearl 
of  his  soul,  and  discovered  not,  till  too  late,  that  it  was  the 
condensed  venom  of  asps.  No  devotion  to  her  feelings,  no 
abandonment  of  his  desires  was  too  great ;  he  left  his  cares 
to  hirelings,  and  took  upon  himself  the  office  of  a  servant  to 
her  humors.  He  became  the  very  menial  of  love — the 
bondslave  of  engrossed  and  engulfed  affection — he  resign 
ed  himself,  a  sacrifice  to  the  hydra  of  the  heart,  and  the 
serpent  luxuriated  in  his  voiceless  agonies. 

The  proverbial  love  of  a  mother  is  not  without  its  excep 
tions  ;  vanity,  shame,  audacious  pride  and  unhallowed  de 
sire  are  all,  not  seldom,  predominant  over  that  pure  and  sub 
lime  passion  of  the  female  heart.  No  faith  can  be  reposed 
in  emotions  which  expire  in  their  birthhour,  no  happiness 
issue  from  the  polluted  fane  where  sacrilege  despoils  and 


Ii  A  ¥  s     \  A  w  .1,1-:  u  *;  IN  u  .> . 

profanity  teaches  the  doctrines  of  destruction.  Born  of 
feeling,  Love  should  be  confirmed  and  perpetuated  by  prin 
ciple  ;  or,  like  Gama  oft'  the  Cape  of  Storms,  it  floats  upon 
an  unknown  and  perilous  ocean,  swept  far  from  its  path  by 
the  tempest  of  the  burning  zone,  broken  by  the  wave  and 
confronted  with  death.  The  child  was  given  to  a  nurse — 
the  housekeeper  fulfilled  the  duties  of  a  mistress,  and  with 
the  bitter  sweat  of  Walter's  brow,  the  afflicted  Mrs.  Cole- 
brooke  purchased  her  gorgeous  habiliments  and  pampered 
her  distempered  appetites.  Filth  and  finery  went  hand  in 
hand ;  provisions  were  bought  when  they  should  have  been 
preserved ;  the  rewards  of  patient  and  unremitting  toil 
would  not  satisfy  the  demands  of  inappeaseable  extrava 
gance  and  hopeless  inaction  ;  and,  miserable  beyond  all  lan 
guage,  poor  Colebrooke  went,  sleepless  and  exhausted,  to 
the  crushing  bondage  of  his  despair. 

His  family  increased  as  years  of  sorrow  and  growing  em 
barrassment  accumulated  upon  his  miserable  heart,  and  his 
utmost  enterprise  could  not,  in  the  least,  retrieve  the  per 
plexities  and  disasters  which  were  gathering  around  him. — 
Walter  had  a  godlike  spirit,  and  he  provided  for  all  who 
composed  his  household  with  a  liberality  and  even  profusion 
more  illustrative  of  his  magnanimous  disposition  than  merit 
ed  by  his  unworthy  associate  or  consistent  with  his  suffering 
income.  But  the  very  fiend  of  riot  and  recklessness  reign 
ed  in  his  devoted  dwelling ;  waste  scattered  in  the  dust  the 
spoils  of  wanton  excess ;  enjoyment  fled  from  luxury  in  the 
house,  and  habitual  melancholy  settled  in  Cimmerian  gloom 
upon  the  discouraged  cultivator  of  beautiful  lands  which 
soon  might  pass  from  his  possession.  His  lares  had  taken 
up  arms  against  him — his  sacred  hearthstone  no  longer 
yielded  him  a  refuge  from  care  or  pleasure  in  retrospect  or 
hope  in  future  days.  He  found  no  solace  in  summer  eve 
ning  conversations  with  one  who  perpetually  harassed  his 


LAYS     AlVU    LEGENWS.  255 

wearied  mind  by  some  fresh  invented  scheme  of  individual 
expense — some  fretful  complaint  or  imaginary  want.  O 
the  awful  power  of  woman !  She  can  clothe  the  world 
with  brightness,  beauty  and  bliss — she  can  pour  the  light 
of  heaven,  the  sunbeams  of  seraphic  thought  and  im 
maculate  virtue  over  the  heart  of  her  husband — or  she  can 
darken  the  hopeless  earth  even  to  the  very  blackness  of 
desolation  and  banish  to  the  midnight  depths  of  pain  and 
sorrow  the  noblest  mind  and  most  generous  feelings  that 
ever  glowed  in  man !  She  can  lift  the  sordid  soul  and  pu 
rify  its  grovelling  purposes ;  and  she  can  cover  with  the 
ashes  of  agony  and  shame  the  brightest  reputation  and  most 
sublime  intelligence.  She  can  feed  daring  ambition  with 
the  ambrosia  of  the  gods  ;  and  she  can  change  the  conquer 
ing  struggle  after  distinction  into  the  prometheus  pangs  of 
undying  death.  Like  the  seraph  of  the  sun,  she  may  guide 
to  regions  of  glory  and  illustrate  and  beautify  scenes  of  splen 
dor  or  softness,  of  rapture  or  apprehension,  of  tempest  or  re 
pose  ;  arid  like  Eblis,  in  the  haunted  depths  of  pandemonium, 
she  may  mock  the  anguish  her  own  malignity  has  inflicted 
and  smile  at  the  despair  with  which  she  has  filled  the  trust 
ing  bosom  she  betrayed.  Life  has  no  joy  like  her  gentle 
and  holy  love,  nor  dissolution  a  pang  like  her  worthlessness  ; 
earth  has  no  purity  like  her  consecrated  heart,  and  hell  no 
bitterness  like  the  blighting  curse  of  her  abandonment. 

Seasons  brought  no  change — time  seemed  only  to  con 
firm  a  perpetuity  of  evil.  The  absorbed  and  concentrated 
selflove,  which  had  embittered  the  unblest  life  of  her  hus 
band,  now  cast  away  her  children.  Devoted  to  utter  neg 
lect,  they  gambolled  with  the  swine  and  wallowed  in  the 
sandbank  and  waded  through  the  mire  of  the  marsh  with 
out  reproof  or  remark  of  hers.  While  her  assemblies  of 
talkative  consumers  and  her  daily  slumbers  were  undisturb 
ed,  what  availed  it  that  the  health  of  her  sons  wss  wasted 


XAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

by  exposure,  their  morals  suffering  from  servile  and  pro 
fane  companionship,  and  the  property  of  her  husband  dis 
appearing  with  weekly  purchased  suits  which  were  neither 
changed  nor  repaired  till  worn  to  tatters.  They  imitated 
the  example  of  her  who  slept,  and  nursed,  and  searched 
the  rocky  woods,  in  silks !  The  little  opportune  ^bor, 
that  saves  what  a  few  days  might  ruin,  was  unthought  of 
there  ;  the  servants  could  wear  the  soiled  and  rended  gar 
ments  which  none  but  vulgar  people  would  patch  and  dye 
and  mend ! — Colebrooke  beheld  his  wretched  children  in 
their  wild  sports,  and  bade  them  return  to  his  house  ;  but 
his  seed  must  be  sown — his  harvest  must  be  gathered,  his 
cattle  fed,  his  flocks  recovered  and  his  produce  sold.  He 
could  not  be  everywhere  at  once — and  none  obeyed  the 
husband  whose  counsels  and  commands  his  own  wife  dis 
regarded.  So  the  ungoverned  boys  roasted  by  the  road- 
side  in  their  rags,  while  Walter  fainted  in  the  field;  and 
cried  aloud  for  new  dresses,  when  he  rested  at  his  door. 
The  merchant  and  dandy-creator  of  the  village  seemed  to 
have  inspired  the  wife  and  children  with  the  mania  of  des 
truction  ;  and  the  miserable  father,  fearing  that  others  should 
perceive  his  embarrassments,  departed  to  purchase  the 
robes  of  ruin.  These  things,  however,  did  not  occur  with 
out  many  remonstrances  on  his  part,  and  many  insidious 
replies  on  hers.  The  last  attempt  to  close  the  floodgates  of 
misery,  to  recover  his  lost  property — was  made  on  a  tem 
pestuous  and  lonely  winter  evening.  Walter  had  been  oc 
cupied  in  a  rigid  and  melancholy  examination  of  his  ac 
counts  for  more  than  an  hour;  he  raised  his  head,  with  a 
sigh,  looked  mournfully  at  Elizabeth  and  said :  "  These  pa 
pers  are  the  prophets  of  evil,  Elizabeth  !  My  soul  sickens, 
my  heart  trembles  to  comprehend  the  extent  of  my  respon 
sibilities.  Years  have  passed  since  I  contracted  credit 
with  these  men,  and  I  have  not  dared  nor  they  deemed  it 
politic  to  ask  an  examination.  Now  1  dread  to  realize  the 


XiAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

truth — 1  shrink  from  the  conviction  of  my  helplessness  and 
their  demanded  rights — all  I  possess  on  earth  cannot  libe 
rate  me  from  my  accountabilities.  Alas,  lizabeth,  1  did  not 
think  we  should  come  to  this.  I  was  well  established  and 
had  a  right  to  look  forward  to  lengthened  years  made  hon 
orable  by  accomplished  purposes,  independent  by  prudence 
and  blessed  by  consistent  kindliness  of  feeling  ; — what  have 
I  left  ?"  *'  Surely,  my  dear  Walter,  you  will  not  forget  the 
wife  of  your  bosom,  to  whom  you  plighted  your  enduring 
affection  when  she  preferred  your  love  to  that  of  many  ? 
The  difficulties,  of  which  you  complain,  may  be  remedied — 
Your  industry,  I  am  certain,  will  meet  all  our  expendi 
tures — your  character  will  demand  credit.  You  would  not 
that  your  wife  should  shrink  from  competition  with  her 
equals — that  our  children  should  fear  to  stand  up  boldly  in 
the  presence  of  the  loftiest. — Give  not  way,  dear  Walter, 
to  this  despondency  !  all  will  be  well. — The  season  has  not 
been  fruitful;  another  will  redeem  you  from  anxiety;  it 
grows  late,  my  love, — you  will  not  watch  in  this  fatigue." 

"  I  have  been  taught  to  bear  and  suffer,  I  Elizabeth,  and  I 
can  watch.  This  life  was  once  to  me  a  scene  of  uninvaded 
enjoyment ;  I  had  ampler  purses  than  my  necessities  or 
luxuries  required  ;  I  was  respected  by  the  good  and  solicited 
by  the  gay  ;  Time  floated  by  in  music,  and  sinless  pleasure 
renewed  its  daily  charms.  But  that  is  passed — and,  with 
the  death  of  my  dreams,  comes  the  wretchedness  of  living 
doubt.  1  am  haunted  by  apprehension  and  plunged  into  the 
very  pit  of  perplexity.  With  our  present  expenses  there  is 
no  hope  of  retaining  what  we  have — much  less  of  acquiring 
more." 

"  My  dearest  Walter  !"  replied  the  artful  wife,  "  such 
causeless  despondency  dishonors  your  good  sense  and  judg 
ment  ;  o'ur  means  are  not  soon  exhausted ;  pleasure  con- 

33 


258  LAVS     AM 

sists  with  fortune,  and  what  is  better  beneath  the  sun  than 
to  use  the  goods  the  gods  provide  ? 

"  Use  should  not  become  abuse,"  said  Colebrooke.  "  True 
joy  follows  truth,  fidelity,  considerate  love  and  uncomplain 
ing  application  ;  and  the  blessing  of  God  rests  only  on  those 
who  forsake  not  their  own  interests  while  they  confide  in 
his  providence." 

"  Your  sentiments  are  just  like  my  father's,  Walter,  and 
your  faith,  like  his,  will  have  its  reward.  Birth,  death, 
marriage  and  pulpit  oratory  were  all  the  same  to  him  ;  he 
melted  every  heart  by  his  prayers — and  expended  his  fee 
in  a  feast ;  he  charmed  the  whole  town  by  his  eloquence — 
and  scorned  to  pamper  the  lazy  profligacy  of  a  beggar  who 
complained  of  fire  and  famine ;  he  heightened  the  bliss  of 
wedlock  by  the  significant  brevity  of  his  ceremony,  and  al 
ways  took  the  lady's  part  in  divorce.  Put  your  trust  in 
Heaven,  like  him,  and  all  will  be  well." 

"  Nothing  will  ever  be  well  or  even  endurable  with  me 
while  this  scene  of  unprofitable  extravagance  continues. — 
Our  mad  waste  must  expire  or  our  past  affluence  must 
vanish.  I  feel  no  disposition  to  enact  the  tyrant's  part, 
whether  he  be  priest  or  demagogue,  even  if  such  despotism 
and  avarice  could  save  my  soul.  I  will  not  say — for  1  Jove 
you  better  than  my  own  spirit  of  life — that  you  must  re 
trench  both  our  paid  and  credited  purchases — but  I  implore 
you,  Elizabeth,  as  you  prize  our  future  respectability  and 
the  happiness  of  our  children,  to  weigh  well  the  consequen 
ces  of  worldly  vanity  and  personal  thoughtlessness.  This 
.system  cannot  last ;  we  shall  be  outcasts  and  our  sons  and 
daughters — mendicants  !" 

"  Come,  my  love  !"  said  Elizabeth,  throwing  her  beautiful 
arms  around  his  neck  and  caressing  him  with  a  smile  and 
kiss,  which  could  win  when  it  willed ;  "  the  wind  moans 
' 


£•  A  Y  S     AND     i;  E  G  E  N  li  S. 


dismally  without,  the  lamp  grows  dim  and  the  fire  burns 
low  ;  the  dreary  storm  infects  your  spirits,  love  !  Dismiss 
your  distresses  in  repose—  nay  —  nay,  never  gaze  upon  those 
hateful  bills  —  taxes  imposed  on  pleasure  —  let  me  deposit 
them  in  your  cabinet.  Now,  love,  we  will  forget  these  trou 
blesome  things,  and  seek  in  affection  and  reliance  on  Provi 
dence  a  solace  and  charm  which  nothing  can  destroy." 

Poor  Colebrooke  resigned  himself  to  his  terrible  assail 
ant  ;  in  her  fearful  embraces  he  forgot  his  duty,  his  respon 
sibilities,  his  pride,  honesty  and  manhood  ;  all,  even  yet, 
seemed  trivial  when  contrasted  with  his  exhaustless  burn 
ing  passion.  At  the  summons  of  her  syren  voice,  he  for 
sook  his  high  ambition,  his  independent  principles,  his  earthly 
and  heavenly  hopes.  He  laid  down  the  proud  and  count 
less  thoughts  of  a  gifted,  though  undetermined  mind,  beneath 
the  altar  of  a  voluptuous  Calypso;  and,  amidst  the  fascina 
tions  of  her  charms,  fell  into  oblivion  of  all  trouble,  terror 
and  approaching  desolation.  The  madness  of  the  heart 
had  seized  upon  his  brain  and  irremediable  misery  sprung 
from  the  phantom  bowers  of  his  delirium. 

On  the  following  day,  he  harnessed  his  heavy  team,  and 
broke  through  the  deep  drifts  of  snow  to  gather  his  winter 
fuel  ;  for,  as  his  money  had  been  devoted  to  other  purposes 
than  the  full  payment  of  his  laborers,  but  one  remained  to 
help  him  in  his  need.  The  morning  was  cold  ns  ingrati 
tude  ;  his  thick  winter  overcoat,  Elizabeth  said,  was  beyond 
repairs  ;  his  gloves  were  in  the  same  condition  ;  and  every 
vestige  of  a  stocking  had  disappeared  among  the  unsearch 
able  lumber  of  the  garret.  So  Walter  drew  on  his  coarse 
boots,  buttoned  his  worn  coat,  and  went  forth  without  a 
murmur.  His  feet  and  hands  were  frozen  when  he  return- 
u,  but  he  had  brought  wood  to  kindle  a  cheerful  fire  for 
Elizabeth  ;  his  constitution  was  laid  open  to  disease,  but 
she  could  dwell  in  comfort.  His  sufferinors  were  the  foun- 


260  LAYS     AND    LEGENDS. 

tain  of  her  enjoyment,  and  he  wished  to  forget  them.  Oh. 
what  honor,  prosperity  and  happiness  might  have  accom 
panied  that  ill-fated  family,  and  shed  a  glory  and  a  benizon 
upon  the  venerable  head  of  Colebrooke,  had  the  wife  shared 
a  moiety  of  the  magnanimity,  generous  sacrifice  and  exalt 
ed  principle  of  the  husband.  But  he  was  misled  by  a  me 
teor  in  his  early  days — he  was  too  proud  to  confess  his  er 
ror  till  repentance  was  too  late,  and  he  loved  with  a  blind 
ed  and  manacled  madness  which  permitted  him  not  to  exact 
©bedience  to  his  commands,  while  ruin  was  coming  on  him 
like  a  giant  armed. 

There  was  nothing  in  that  doomed  house  (it  rises  before 
me  now  as  it  was  often  seen  in  the  troubled,  but  still  pleasant 
hours  of  my  childhood)  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  suffer 
ing  ;  no  love  of  literature  to  soften,  if  not  efface  remem 
brance  of  sorrow  and  elevate  the  mind  beyond  the  agitations 
of  present  misery  ;  no  indestructible  emanations  of  conge 
nial  and  sympathetic  hearts  to  mellow  and  purify  the  afflic 
tions  they  were  condemned  to  feel ;  and,  most  of  all,  no  re 
ligion  to  teach  the  worn  and  wasted  spirit  that  its  best  hopes 
repose  in  worlds  no  form  of  flesh  can  enter.  In  his  youth, 
Walter  had  respected  without  professing  to  practise  piety ; 
he  had  never  failed  in  reverent  attention  to  the  church,  its 
minister  and  its  ordinances :  but  had  steadfastly  refused  to 
sanction  revivals  which  were  not  reformations,  and  partake 
of  the  eucharist  when  unprepared  to  fulfil  the  many  momen 
tous  duties  it  involves.  P'or  Elizabeth,  she  was  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  clergyman,  and  too  thoroughly  familiarised  with 
the  artifices  and  secret  objects  of  a  misdirected  and  abused 
profession  to  indulge  any  creed  but  that  of  her  own  gratifi 
cation.  She  knew  that  spbndid  declamation  could  consist 
with  hollow  hypocrisy,  that  austere  manners  could  mask 
libertine  indulgences,  that  enrnest  exhortations  to  repent 
ance  and  menaces  of  the  wraiii  of  God  could  flow  from  lips 


tAYSAND     LEGENDS. 

which  were  polluted  by  profanity  and  unbelief;  and,  know 
ing  this,  without  appreciating  better  examples,  she  little  res 
pected  the  ordinances  or  the  faith  of  which  her  father  was 
the  officiater  and  the  head.  A  chill  discomfort  pervaded 
the  dwelling  of  Walter  Colebrooke ;  the  costly  furniture 
was  soiled  or  broken;  economy,  active  employment  and 
self-denial  had  taken  their  eternal  flight ;  window  panes  lay 
shattered  on  the  floor  of  the  parlor,  and  no  one  removed 
them  or  supplied  their  place  ;  want  invaded  those  days  not 
devoted  to  festivity,  when  means  of  excess  were  procured 
by  usury  ;  and  the  mournful  winds  of  heaven  sighed  over 
the  wreck  of  one  who  might  have  mingled  with  the  proud 
est,  and  stood  up  with  the  best.  Desolation  had  set  his  seal 
on  the  dreadful  record  of  conjugal  profligacy;  and  self- 
desertion  soon  followed  the  footsteps  of  imbecile  submission 
to  attractive  deceit,  which  might  have  been  arrested  on 
its  road  to  death. 

Large  debts,  which  had  been  suffered  to  accumulate,  at 
first  without  fear,  and  subsequently  from  dread  of  examina 
tion,  gradually  swelled,  as  years  went  on,  into  heavy  sums, 
which  Colebrooke  dared  not  to  hope  he  should  ever  be  able 
to  discharge.  Convinced  that  he  was  now  completely  in 
their  power,  his  creditors  demanded  a  mortgage  of  all  his 
lands;  and  he  walked  no  more  in  the  pride  of  independent 
possessions.  But,  though  evil  habits  were  stealing  through 
the  avenues  of  sorrow  to  prey  upon  his  unhappy  bosom,  yet 
he  bore  stoutly  up  against  the  torrent  of  misfortune,  and 
trusted  still  to  escape  outcast  wretchedness.  His  ample 
forests  towered  grandly  as  ever;  his  fields  were  cultivated 
with  the  same  diligence  which  had  characterised  his  pre 
vious  industry;  his  yellow  harvests  presented  their  wonted 
offerings ;  and  all  admired  the  noble  spirit  which  he  dis 
played  in  the  very  arena  of  conflict  and  hopelessness. 

But  the  last  crash  of  the  warning  thunder  now  echoed 
along  the  gloomy  clouds  of  the  mind — the  last  flash  of  the 


262 


LAYS     AND     I.  EG  EN  OS. 


lightning  bolt  glanced  in  the  depth  of  the  darkness  to  display 
the  ruin  which  was  soon  to  be  buried  in  the  bosom  of  mid 
night.  The  fatal  revenge  of  a  woman,  who  had  been  a  fre 
quent  habitant  in  his  family  during  past  years,  whom  Eliz 
abeth,  in  the  confidence  of  security  and  the  fearlessness  of 
a  doomed  hour,  had  lately  driven  from  her  house  with 
reproach,  now  revealed  to  the  humbled  and  agitated  Cole- 
brooke  the  maidenly  dishonor  of  her  who  had  so  long  slum 
bered  on  his  bosom.  Secrecy  had  hung  over  the  intrigue, 
the  knowledge  of  which  had  been  obtained  by  this  bribed 
and  threatening  woman ;  and,  though  the  offender  knew  that 
her  guilt  was  only  concealed,  not  forgotten,  yet,  rather  than 
bear  the  severe  exactions  which  were  demanded  from  her 
patience  and  her  purse,  she  chose  to  encounter  the  full 
vengeance  of  her  late  accomplice  and  present  adversary. 
She  trusted  in  the  force  of  her  unchangeable  denial  <••"  the 
truth  of  the  woman's  assertions.  She  confided  without,  the 
remotest  apprehension,  in  the  strength  of  that  deep,  confirm 
ed  and  habitual  love  which,  she  knew,  reigned  in  the  breast 
of  her  husband.  But  the  exasperated  informant  was  armed 
with  terrible  reproof;  she  seized  and  condensed  to  the 
essence  of  adder's  venom  every  circumstance,  every  inci 
dent,  every  word  which  could  bear  conviction  and  despair 
ing  assurance  to  the  ardent  and  abused  nature  of  Colebrooke. 
There  was  no  distrust — there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the 
deed.  Her  long  absence  from  home,  during  the  year  pre 
ceding  her  marriage,  without  any  assigned  or  comprehensi 
ble  cause,  her  clandestine  attachment  to  a  young  profligate 
named  Dalcho,  who  had  disappeared  after  frequent  solitary 
interviews,  and  left  no  trace  of  his  existence  behind  him 
except  in  Miss  Forrester's  disgrace :  her  visible  reluctance  to 
hear  his  name,  or  even  an  allusion  to  her  unexplained  resi 
dence  for  six  months  at  a  remote  farmhouse,  where  she  had 
neither  friend  nor  acquaintance  ;  all  these  circumstances, 
combined  with  direct  assertions  of  her  distracted  and  im- 


LAYS     A  N  I)     LEGENDS.  263 

ploring  confessions  of  guilt,  fell  upon  the  tumultuous  mind  of 
Walter  like  a  livid  mass  of  lightnings.  His  love  had  brought 
domestic  unhappiness,  and  worldly  ruin,  and  violated  chas 
tity  into  his  household  and  his  bed.  Protestations  and 
curses  and  convulsions  followed  the  disclosure — but  he  saw 
the  awful  truth  and  fell  to  the  dust,  a  hopeless  man  !  In  life 
there  was  no  more  ambition,  or  joy,  or  peace,  or  hope  for 
him.  His  vain  dreams  of  respect  and  enjoyment  fled  like 
the  morning  dew;  the  names,  once  electric,  of  husband 
and  father,  fell  upon  his  ear  like  ice-bolts ;  he  shrunk 
from  all  and  wandered  forth  to  pray  that  death  would  be 
his  last  best  friend.  No  bitter  and  blighting  execrations 
passed  his  lips — for  they  were  useless  now;  no  loud  la 
mentations  betrayed  the  agony  which  scorched  and  con 
sumed  him — they  could  not  change  his  doom ;  but  an  un 
alterable  apathy — an  utter  heedlessness  of  every  living 
thing — a  congealment  of  the  lava  of  his  burning  passion  fell 
upon  his  wrecked  and  crucified  affections.  The  nectar  of 
his  bliss  had  turned  to  poison  ;  the  tree  of  knowledge  had 
borne  the  fruit  of  death;  no  avenue  of  escape  was  left 
open — no  object  to  accomplish — no  aim  to  guide  him.  He 
had  his  frailty,  for  he  feared  the  world  ;  he  dreaded  even 
while  he  scorned  the  scorner :  he  had  garnered  up  his  har 
vest  of  delight  for  the  feast  of  the  lightning ;  he  had  scattered 
the  seeds  of  his  love  upon  ground  that  changed  its  nutriment 
to  ashes  ;  he  watched  the  cold,  malign  and  withering  world 
with  an  eye  that  defied  while  it  condemned  its  worthless- 
ness,  its  audacity,  its  magnificence  and  insane  ambition. 
He  grasped  the  brimming  goblet  of  perdition,  he  consumed 
his  noble  faculties  and  his  wrongs  together,  and  went  forth 
among  mankind  a  monument  of  living  death.  Make  a  man 
unhappy  in  his  home,  worry  and  irritate  him  by  endless  re 
iterations  of  trivial  necessities,  desires  and  caprices,  invent 
disasters  when  none  occur  to  agitate  his  mind,  chain  his 


264  LAYS     v  A  i»   i,  j:  (;  i;  ,N  i>  s. 

soul  to  the  cradle  and  cause  his  most  momentous  duties  to 
consist  in  ready  submission  to  the  requirements  of  wife  and 
children — involve  him  in  debt  and  then  aggravate  his  appre 
hensions  by  agonizing  forebodements — and  you  banish  him 
from  hope,  destine  him  to  misery  and  drive  him  to  the  revel 
of  forgetfulness.  When  one's  own  house  is  his  hell,  who 
can  dwell  therein  ?  When  one's  own  partner  is  his  perse 
cutor,  who  can  abide  her  presence  ? 

Walter  hid  resolved  to  die,  Earth  contained  no  hope  for 
him.  In  the  solitary  field  he  thought  upon  his  unprovided 
children  and  wept  aloud  as  one  not  to  he  comforted ;  he 
thought  upon  their  dishonored  and  faithless  mother,  and 
his  tears  fell  back  in  their  fountain.  Yet  his  lips  breathed 
no  accusation  and  his  accents  betrayed  no  harshness.  Af 
ter  the  first  bewildering  blow,  nothing  could  excite  or  in 
terest  him  more.  On  Sabbaths  and  holydays  he  observed 
no  longer  the  commendable  custom,  so  general  in  New- 
England,  of  dress  and  decoration ;  he  laid  down  upon  his 
vile  couch  in  the  garret  and  replied  to  no  one  ;  he  swal 
lowed  the  contents  of  the  fatal  bowl  and  silently  refused  to 
sit  longer  at  his  generous  board.  Elizabeth  was  now  as 
sured,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  that  the  power  of  her 
beauty  had  departed.  Had  her  husband  overwhelmed 
her  with  wrath  and  violence — had  he  denounced  her  crime 
and  hypocrisy  by  the  most  terrible  maledictions — she 
would  have  sustained  them  all  without  fear  of  the  ultimate 
restoration  of  her  dominion ;  maddened  and  merciless  pas 
sion  would  have  exhausted  its  energies,  and  in  the  pauses 
of  the  tempest,  her  voice  might  yet  prevail.  But  now  she 
sank  under  the  certainty  that  all  was  lost;  his  answers 
were  abbreviated  to  a  single  word,  and  he  uttered  no  re 
mark — he  did  not  seem  to  see  the  objects  around  him  nor 
indicate  existence  except  by  breath.  Reckless  of  every 
thing,  his  presence  restored  order  no  more  in  farmyard  or 


LAYS     AND      LEGEND*. 

dwelling;  his  implements  of  husbandry  lay  rusted  or  brd- 
ken  by  the  roadside  or  furrow ;  his  walls  decayed  and  no 
one  replaced  them ;  the  torrent  rains  of  autumn  poured 
through  the  rotten  roof  of  his  granaries,  and  his  cattle  look 
ed  wistfully  for  their  provident  master  to  fill  their  garner* 
as  in  better  days  ;,  his  faithless  mercenaries  idled  amidst 
his  cornfields,  and  he  passed  them  by  without  word  or 
look.  Misery  was  in  his  heart  and  intoxication  in  his  brain, 
and  his  fine  form  bowed  beneath  the  burden  of  his  bosom. 
His  broad  brow  was  harrowed  by  despair ;  his  beautiful 
eyes  contracted  and  displayed  the  ravages  of  the  fluid  pes 
tilence  ;  and  his  commanding  features,  once  so  eminent  in 
their  beauty  and  intellect,  now  bloated  by  excess  and  dis 
colored  by  the  fiery  liquid,  lost  all  expression  of  mind, 
of  pleasure,  of  participation  in  any  thing  that  occupies  and 
agitates  the  world.  Wild  mirth  sometimes  convulsed  them, 
but  it  was  the  laughter  of  the  sepulchre ;  quick  flashes  of 
wit  illumed  them,  but  they  were  the  meteors  of  destruction. 
His  father  prayed  for  his  deathhour,  and  his  mother  sighed 
over  hoarded  remembrances  of  her  firstborn,  her  earliest 
delight,  her  most  beloved  and  lamented. 

It  was  midsummer ;  the  blinding  light  and  intense  heat 
of  the  day  had  given  place  to  a  breezeless,  sultry  but  star 
light  evening.  It  was  the  night  of  the  sacrament  Sabbath — 
but  Walter  had  not  mingled  with  the  worshipping  society 
nor  listened  to  any  discourse  but  that  of  his  own  misfortune. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  his  father  had  visited  him,  and  they 
had  gone  forth  together.  The  topics  and  result  of  their 
melancholy  interview  could  be  gathered  only  from  the  lone 
ly  reflections  of  Colebrooke  as  he  wandered  in  the  wood. 

"  The  arrow  has  flown  and  it  quivers  in  my  heart !"  said 
he,  in  a  low  faltering  voice.  "  Perhaps,  I  have  been  weak, 
for  the  world  exults  in  the  triumph  of  strong  and  detestable 
passions.  Love  has  been  the  Lord  of  my  nature — the  foun- 

34 


266  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

tain  of  my  rapture — the  very  Phlegethon  of  my  agony. — 
Alas !  and  am  I  sunk  so  low  ?  am  1  who  would  canonize 
the  object  of  my  profoundest  regard,  humbled  by  her  treach 
ery  to  the  vile  condition  of  a  traitor  to  myself  and  my  good 
name,  and  an  apostate  from  the  religion  in  which  my  fathers 
adored  their  Maker?  My  poor  father!  he  wept  while  he 
condemned  my  anguish  and  abandonment ;  he  rose  into  in 
dignant  remonstrance  and  bitterness  of  expression  while  he 
demanded  and  I  refused  to  part  from  her.  Why  should 
his  arguments  and  persuasions  be  in  vain?  She  has  never 
fulfilled  my  dreams  of  her  excellence — she  has  little  con 
sulted  my  good  or  the  welfare  of  our  children — and  this 
accursed  revelation  of  her  dishonor  brands  burning  exe 
cration  upon  her  name.  Then  why  embrace  the  flame  and 
perish  when  I  might  flee  and  be  safe  ?  Woe — woe — woe  to 
the  devoted  heart !  it  must  cling,  like  the  withered  ivy,  to 
the  crumbling  temple  of  its  song  and  praise ;  it  must  stand, 
like  the  palm  planted  a  thousand  years  ago  and  flourishing 
over  extinguished  generations,  undecayed  and  unshaken. 
These  broad  lands,  on  which  I  have  taken  so  much  pride 
and  pleasure,  will  pass  to  the  stranger — and,  in  his  tender 
mercy,  he  might  grant  me  the  privilege  to  be  his  tenant 
during  good  behavior !  Let  madness  come  ere  such  an 
offer,  and  death  ere  I  am  tempted  to  its  acceptance.  I 
have  sinned  in  kindness  ;  1  have  fallen  because  I  loved 
unwisely ;  but  if  I  must  be  a  hireling  and  a  slave,  none 
whom  I  know  shall  witness  it.''  He  turned  toward  the 
house  and  Elizabeth  met  him,  in  tears,  at  the  door.  "  The 
mortgage  expires  to-morrow,"  said  she,  "  have  we  no  hope 
of  its  redemption  ?  Can  you  not  yet  retain  the  estate  ?  Your 
father  loves  you,  husband." 

"  Husband !"  said  he,  wildly — "  oh,  yes — it  is  heaven's 
truth !  would  it  were  not !" 

"What  do  you  say  ?  Will  he  not  help  us  in  our  need  as 
a  father  should  ?" 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS.  267 

"Yes,  upon  one  condition,  Elizabeth — that — that  we 
part — for  ever." 

"  I  acquiesce  in  the  harsh  decision,  if  it  be  for  your  good, 
Walter.  I  will  disprove  scandal  and  illustrate  my  love 
for  you  by  resigning  every  thing  that  makes  life  dear  and 
honorable.  I  am  ready  for  the  sacrifice." 

"  But  I  am  not,"  said  Colebrooke,  deeply  agitated,  "though 
I  know  my  refusal  will  be  my  destruction.  We  must  de 
part  hence  on  Tuesday,  Elizabeth."  "  Where  shall  we 
go  ?"  "  Where  none  shall  mock  us  with  their  condole- 
ments."  "  You  will  not  change  your  name  ?"  "  I  have 
changed  my  nature,"  said  Walter,  in  a  tone  of  such  fervent 
mournfulness  that  no  heart  but  that  of  indurated  se'fishness 
could  have  resisted  the  force  of  its  remorseful  pathos.  But 
a  woman  without  feeling  and  principle,  like  the  night  wan 
derer  on  the  battlefield,  will  search  the  dying  man  for  gold 
and  deny  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  his  death-thirst.  She 
will  grasp  the  rich  loose  mantle  of  the  wretch  who  is  falling 
down  the  precipice,  and  turn  aw*ay,  heedless  of  the  last 
shriek  that  ascends  from  the  unfathomed  gulf  below. 

Walter  rose  early  on  the  following  morning,  but  Eliza 
beth  had  anticipated  him.  His  mind  was  wrought  up  to 
the  capacity  of  enduring  the  anguish  he  was  doomed  to  un 
dergo,  and  he  uttered  neither  inquiry  nor  remark  upon  a 
circumstance  sufficiently  surprising ;  for  his  wife  had  not 
witnessed  a  sunrise  for  ten  years.  Hours  passed  slowly  on, 
dropping  their  arrows,  each  moment,  upon  his  riven  heart; 
and  breakfast  had  been  long  delayed  ere  he  was  summoned. 
"Where  is  Mrs.  Colebrooke?"  said  he,  as  he  took  his 
place,  for  the  last  time,  at  his  own  table.  "  She  went  out 
very  early,  and  has  not  yet  returned,"  replied  the  old  do 
mestic.  "Strange  !  but  she  has  probably  gone  to  a  neigh 
bor's  to  pass  the  day,  and  escape  the  scene  of  humiliation 
soon  to  ensue.  Well,  I  would  not  wish  her  to  witness  it— 


268  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

though  she  might  have  told  me  and  taken  the  children  with 
her.  Poor  desolate  creatures  !  ye  know  not  half  the  insult 
and  bondage  and  misery  to  which  ye  will  be  subject  in  this 
unpitying  world.  Did  Elizabeth  leave  no  direction?  did 
she  say  nothing  as  she  went  out  ?" 

"  Not  a  word,  sir ;  she  was  dressed  in  the  purple  silk 
you  bought  for  her  the  other  day;  and  I  thought  she  seemed 
anxious  to  avoid  observation,  though  she  turned  at  the  cor 
ner  of  the  garden  and  looked  back  earnestly  for  a  minute ; 
then  she  quickly  disappeared  in  the  grove  yonder." 

"  She  will  never  come  to  her  home  again,  if  she  stays  till 
night!"  said  Colebrooke,  rising  from  the  meal  which  he 
had  scarcely  tasted.  Gathering  his  children  around  him, 
he  sat  down  under  a  beautiful  sycamore  tree  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  awaited,  without  apparent  emotion,  the  arrival 
of  bidders  on  his  inheritance. 

Tiie  creditors,  the  auctioneer  and  the  interested  crowd 
collected;  and  Walter  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  multitude, 
gazing  steadily  upon  the  crowd  of  faces  around  him,  with 
out  seeming  to  recognise  even  his  most  familiar  acquaint 
ances.  He  stood  like  a  pilgrim  beholding  a  pageant  in 
which  he  could  have  no  interest  or  fellowship  ;  like  a  dying 
man  in  gilded  halls  re-echoing  shouts  of  revelry.  A  very 
few  commiserated  his  misfortunes,  and  forgot  not  in  his 
poverty  the  noble  qualities  he  had  displayed  in  his  pros 
perity  ;  but  the  great  throng,  instigated  by  the  grasping  and 
pitiless  spirit  of  avarice,  scorned  and  trampled  on  the  vic 
tim  to  seize  the  plunder.  The  elder  Colebrooke  was  there, 
and  he  approached  the  hopeless  outcast  under  the  influence 
of  an  emotion  which  shook  his  mighty  nature.  "This  is 
no  time  nor  place  my  son,"  said  he,  "  to  declare  how  much 
I  love  and  mourn  over  you.  You  may  yet  be  rescued,  and 
these  unhappy  children  of  a  most  erring  and  accountable 
mother  may  not  be  cast  upon  the  world  to  be  the  mockery 


LAYS     AM)     LEGENDS.  269 

of  the  heartless.  The  sale  is  hurried  ;  let  me  redeem  your 
lands — but  say  that  I  may  do  it  and  you  are  again  estab 
lished  far  above  all  who  insult  your  misery  now.  I  do  not 
see  her ;  she  leaves  you  to  bear  the  evil — she  reapt  the 
benefit  with  an  unsparing  hand.  Speak,  Walter,  shall  I 
stop  the  sale  ?"  The  old  gentleman  stood  trembling ;  his 
son  paused,  looked  upon  his  ill-fated  boys  and  sighed ;  his 
lip  quivered,  his  brow  grew  ghastly,  his  wild  thoughts  were 
rushing  along  the  desert  of  his  present  agony  to  seek,  once 
more,  the  green  isles  and  sunny  fountains  of  past  enjoy 
ment.  His  bosom  heaved  convulsively,  and  the  bitter  tears 
of  a  strong  man  channelled  his  burning  cheeks,  but  he  did 
not  speak. 

"  We  are  losing  an  opportunity  which  will  never  return," 
said  Mr.  Colebrooke  anxiously,  as  he  heard  the  loud,  rapid 
and  insolent  voice  of  the  auctioneer.  "  Resolve,  my  son — 
resolve  to  save  yourself  and  your  children — quick,  let  me 
hear  your  voice." 

"  Father !"  he  replied  with  despairing  solemnity,  "  you 
have  my  last,  my  deepest  thanks  for  all  the  kindness,  the  ge 
nerosity  and  forbearance  you  have  bestowed  upon  me ;  but  I 
have  done.  Though  t  might  recover  my  estate,  I  could 
never  recover  the  peace  of  mind  or  the  health  of  body 
which  1  once  enjoyed.  lean  neither  pray,  act  nor  feel 
anvthing  but  the  last  hopelessness.  I  have  loved  Elizabeth 
for  many  eventful  and  trying  years ;  she  is  the  mother  of 
my  boys — she  has  been  the  partner  of  my  pillow — she  was 
the  charm  of  my  youth — and,  though  I  must  believe  her 
guilt  ere  we  met,  yet  she  has  been,  not  one  dares  to  deny, 
most  faithful  since." 

"The  maiden,  that  sins  as  she  feared  not  to  do,  will 
prove  a  faithless  wife  if  by  perfidy  she  can  accomplish  her 
object  better  than  by  fidelity." 


270  LAYS    AND    LEGENDS. 

"  Well,  well !"  said  Walter,  in  the  impatient  tone  of  irrita 
ble  misfortune — "I  do  believe  that  Elizabeth,  with  all  her 
faults,  loves  me  as  much  as  her  nature  will  permit  her  to 
love  any  one  but  herself.  We  have  been  rich  and  now  are 
nothing — we  have  been  happy  but  must  pass  on  henceforth 
"without  a  smile  of  joy.  Save  our  children,  father,  when  I 
am  no  more!  but  we  will  retire  to  the  wilderness  and  die 
together  !  After  the  miserable  months  of  my  better  life,  it 
is  not  much  to  die ;  the  convulsive  pangs  of  dissolution  would 
be  ecstacy  to  the  lingering  anguish  of  persecuted  days." 

"  Walter !  Walter !"  exclaimed  the  heartstruck  father, 
«'  why  will  you  heap  sorrow  on  my  grey  hairs?  why  will  you 
darken  council  by  words  withoi  t  knowledge  ?  why  will  you 
adhere  to  this  fatal  resolve  ?  They  are  trafficking  away  the 
field  on  which  we  stand — they  are  balancing  the  dust  on 
which  we  tread  !  why  will  you  pause  in  your  temporal 
salvation  ?  why  will  you  break  the  heart  that  aches  for  you  ?" 

"My  dear,  venerated,  most  generous  father!  1  implore 
your  prayers,  your  tears,  your  forgiveness  !  Let  not  unkind 
thoughts  dwell  on  my  unhappy  memory  !  let  not  grief,  hov 
ering  over  the  promise  of  my  boyhood,  concentrate  upon  the 
dire  consummation  of  my  less  childish  but  not  wiser  years  ! 
These  poor  homeless  wanderers  shall  stay  with  me  till  all 
is  over:  then,  father,  I  shall  commit  them  to  your  guidance 
with  dying  hopes  that  they  may  be  better  and  happier  than 
the  author  of  their  being." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  determine,  my  wretched  child  !" 
said  Mr.  Colebrooke. 

"May  Eternal  Providence  preserve  you,  my  father! 
lament  me  not  when  I  am  gone — this  state  will  not  long 
continue.  Tell  the  world,  sir,  when  my  name  belongs  to 
the  dead,  that  1  loved  without  wisdom  and  that  I  fell  through 
the  weakness  of  an  affection  which  could  not  change  its 


LAYS     AND     IE  GENUS.  271 

object.     Henceforth,  I  belong  neither  to  my  family  nor  to 
society — the  one  I  should  disgrace  and  the  other  1  will  not 
seek.     From  this  hour,  father,  you  will  hear  of  me  no 
more  till  a  messenger  brings  my  children  under  your  roof, 
and  relates  my  death.    Farewell,  father,  farewell  for  ever." 
Walter  fell  upon  his  father's  neck  ;   hot  tears  scalded  his 
corroded  features ;    his  whole  frame  quivered  beneath  the 
deadly  pulsations  of  his  bosom.     Nature  could  not  sustain 
the  wild  whirlwind — the  siroc  of  feeling — the  billow  of  the 
mind!     They  parted  as  those  part  who  will  never  meet 
again  ;  the  sun  went  down  the  glowing  sky  of  August — the 
sale  passed,  and  Walter  was  alone  with  his  unprovided  boys. 
The  old  gentleman  returned  to  his  home  in  still  and  deep 
sorrow  ;  for  Walter,  acting  upon  the  sensitive  pride  of  his 
nature,  refused  not  only  to  accompany  him  to  the  dwelling 
of  his  childhood  until  he  had  prepared  another  residence 
for  the  weary  limbs  of  his  children,  but  peremptorily  scorn 
ed  the  civil  offer  of  his  creditors  to  inhabit  the  mansion 
which  was  once  his  own,  while  his  affairs  were  undecided. 
Darkness  had  descended  upon  the  landscape  ere  he  became 
conscious  of  his  children's  necessities  or  his  wife's  long  ab 
sence.     Starting  suddenly  as  these  convictions  shot  across 
his  mind,  he  looked  up,  and,  perceiving  his  old  female  do 
mestic  standing  near,  as  if  waiting  for  his  commands,  "  Pru 
dence!"  said  he,  "why  are  you  here?     My  house,  lands, 
respect  and  credit — all  have  gone — and  why  should  you 
remain  to  serve  one  who  can  never  repay  your  kindness 
or  give  you  more  than  fruitless  thanks  for  all  your  labor 
and  love  ?" 

"  Should  I  be  a  serpent  to  wound  the  heart  that  warmed 
me  :  should  /  leave  you  alone  when  all  but  your  poor  ser 
vant  have  left  you  ?  No !  I  have  had  a  home  in  your 
house — I  have  been  happy  in  your  abundance  for  ten  long 
years  ;  and  I  do  not  forget  that  you  saved  me,  in  my  want. 


272  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

from  the  poorhouse.  No — no !  Mr.  Colebrooke,  1  shall 
not  leave  you  nor  the  boys.  Let  me  go  where  you  go  ! 
let  me  stay  with  you  till  my  grey  hairs  are  gathered  for  the 
grave !" 

"  Well,  my  good  Prudence  !  you  shall  not  be  denied,  and 
your  friendship  is  pleasant  in  the  midst  of  my  trouble. 
You  shall  go  with  us — and  we  are  happy  in  the  tried  fidel 
ity  of  one  true  friend.  But  Elizabeth  delays — where  shall 
we  seek  her  ?  Perhaps  the  sympathy  of  our  neighbor  Make 
peace  has  taught  her  to  forget  her  afflictions  and  the  hu 
miliations  of  her  family ;  let  us  go  and  inquire  !"  The 
crescent  moon  hung  on  the  verge  of  the  sky  when  they 
arrived  at  the  appointed  farmhouse  of  an  opulent  proprie 
tor. — Walter  received  an  insolent  and  negative  reply  to 
his  anxious  enquiries — "  Elizabeth  had  not  been  there — 
Makepeace  did  not  know  where  she  was — he  was  not  the 
restorer  of  people's  lost  wives — he  was  not  the  keeper  of  a 
bankrupt's  family — he  had  enough  of  his  own  to  care  for" — 
and  he  shut  the  door  in  the  face  of  one  whom  in  other  days 
he  would  not  have  dared  to  address. 

Colebrooke  turned  away  in  silent,  ineffable  indignation. 
"  This  is  the  man,"  thought  he,  in  his  voiceless  mind,  for  by 
words  he  wished  not  to  infect  the  principles  of  his  inexpe 
rienced  boys,  "  this  is  the  man  who  founded  his  good  fortune 
on  the  thousand  dollars  I  loaned  him  when  1  was  not  a  beg 
gar  nor  my  name  an  interdiction.  And  now,  the  unman- 
nered  churl  replies  tome,  as  if  my  voice  spoke  blasphemy 
and  my  presence  inspired  infamy  !  I  am  too  nnblest  to  utter 
malisons,  or  I  would  breathe  out  my  soul  against  this  rene 
gade  and  miscreant." 

Attended  by  the  faithful  Prudence  (though  the  poverty 
of  her  master  was  in  her  person  appalling)  Walter  wander 
ed  from  house  to  house,  encouraging  sometimes  and  often 
bearing  alternately,  in  his  arms,  his  homeless  babes,  to  seek 


LAYS      AND     LEGENDS.  273 

for  a  mother  who  had  sought  happier  fortunes,  and,  as  she 
imagined,  less  variable  advantages  from  her  first  love,  the 
seducer  of  her  youth,  the  destroyer  of  her  wedded  affec 
tions.  No  one  knew  where  she  was — they  had  not  seen 
her  during  many  days — they  were  exceedingly  sorry  that 
Mr.  Colebrooke  should  have  encountered  such  a  loss — they 
requested  and  urged  him  to  remain  in  their  houses — he 
should  be  most  welcome — the  children  were  worn  out — 
perhaps  she  would  be  there  ere  morning ;  but  Colebrooke 
saw  through  the  transparent  veil  of  interest  and  prejudice 
and  chose  rather  to  commit  his  weeping  boys  to  the  pro 
tection  of  nature  in  a  naked  meadow  than  accept  the  con 
descending  charity  of  his  commiserating  and  contemning 
neighbors.  When  all  search  was  in  vain,  the  deluded  and 
desolate  outcast  turned  upon  his  steps  and  bore  in  his  folded 
arms  two  of  his  sleeping  infants  over  a  lonely  and  rocky  road 
two  miles  in  length,  to  the  only  inn  the  place  afforded — 
Prudence  affectionately  toiling  beneath  the  weight  of  the 
eldest.  Laid  upon  decent  beds,  the  unconscious  because 
inexperienced  sufferers  sunk  into  dreamless  slumbers ; — the 
affectionate  nurse  soon  followed  them  (for  the  strongest  and 
most  self-sacrificing  sympathy  cannot  approach  the  intense 
feeling  of  parental  love)  and  Colebrooke  again  was  left  alone 
in  his  voiceless  grief. 

Messages  of  evil  are  soon  conveyed  to  the  only  person 
who  should  not  hear  them.  Mankind  intuitively  rejoice  in 
awakening  the  fiercest  or  most  melancholy  feelings  of  nature ; 
as  no  one  thinks  or  writes  to  prove  himself  happy,  so  no  one 
derives  pleasure  from  the  communication  of  joy  at  all  com 
parable  to  the  ecstasy  resulting  from  misfortune.  Couriers 
will  hasten  to  impart  the  news  of  disaster,  but  delay  to  feast 
when  they  are  charged  with  joyful  tidings.  The  morning 
had  scarcely  dawned  ere  a  friend  desired  to  see  Colebrooke- 
He  entered  and  saluted  the  unrested  and  unblest  man  with 


LAYS     AND      L  E  G  £  N  I>  S. 

an  aspect  of  profound  mystery  and  self-consequence.  "  As 
somewhat  disagreeable  has  happened,"  said  he,  with  perfect 
composure,  "  I  thought  it  was  proper  to  speak  to  you  on  the 
subject,  Mr.  Colebrooke." 

"  You  are  right,"  Walter  replied,  "  but  the  business  is 
over  and  I  have  had  too  much  sorrow  to  desire  its  revival. 
You  mean  that  my  estate  is  sold  and  that  1  am  a  beggar — 
and  you  have  come  very  kindly  to  tell  me  so !" 

"  No,  indeed,  Mr.  Colebrooke  !"  said  the  slow  informer, 
"  I  knew  all  that  before,  and  was  very  sorry  surely — but  I 
bought  your  favorite  meadow  at  a  pretty  bargain  and  Squire 
Hayfield  purchased  all  your  pasture  ground  at  less  than  half 
the  original  value — and  our  Rev.  Mr.  Defylord  is  the  owner 
of  all  the  woodland  which" 

"  Mr. — Mr. — I  forget  your  name  but  see  your  nature. 
Is  this  kindness  ?  did  this  news  instigate  you  to  break  in 
upon  my  repose  ?  Was  I  not,  think  you,  sufficiently  in 
formed  of  my  own  misfortunes  but  I  must  still  be  indebted 
to  you?" 

"  Nay,  nay,  Mr.  Colebrooke."  replied  the  imperturbable 
visitant,  "  I  thought  you  would  like  to  know  how  your  fine 
inheritance  had  been  divided ;  but  since  you  refuse  to  hear 
me  on  that  subject,  I  have  another  at  hand  which  may  be 
more  agreeable  to  you.  As  I  was  tending  my  sheep,  early 
yesterday,  I  saw  through  the  woods  Elizabeth — 1  beg  par 
don,  sir,  I  mean  Mrs.  Colebrooke" 

"  What  of  her  ?"  said  Walter,  springing  violently  from  his 
seat,  "  what  of  her  ?" 

"  Why  nothing  but  that  she  got  into  a  fine  coach  with  the 
absconded  apprentice  of  an  apothecary,  called  Dalcho,  and 
went  off  at  a  round  pace  through  the  forest,  smiling  on  her 
protector  as  if  he  had  delivered  her  from  destruction." 

"  Enough  !  enough  !"  Colebrooke  exclaimed,  "  you  have 
said  enough,  sir — and  you  are  a  true  friend,  sir — and  a  good 


LAYS     ANU     LEGENDS.  275 

member  of  civilized  society,  sir — and  I  owe  you  for  your 
trouble,  sir,  a  great  reward  !"  Walter  strode  forward  in  a 
wild  passion,  seized  the  officious  communicant  by  the  shoul 
ders,  and  with  a  rigid  application  of  his  foot,  sent  him  to  the 
base  of  the  staircase.  The  benevolent  spy  cursed  him  after 
the  most  approved  formula  of  sorcery  and  Manichaeism — 
imprecated  every  pitiless  malediction  in  life  upon  his  head — 
and,  after  proclaiming  before  the  vagabond  assembly  of  the 
tavern  that  he  would  institute  a  ferocious  prosecution  for 
assault  against  the  pauper  Colebrooke,  departed  from  the 
scene  of  his  malignity  and  vain  boasting  like  a  beaten  and 
cowering  hound.  But  when  the  heartless  and  unmannered 
scandal-bearer  had  gone  and  his  malign  relation  had  sunk 
into  the  bosom  of  the  deserted  husband,  what  were  the 
thoughts  of  his  desolate  and  trampled  condition  ?  He  had 
deemed  it  singular  that  Elizabeth  should  leave  him  in  his 
perplexity — he  had  thought  it  strange  that  she  had.  taken 
away  with  her,  on  the  previous  morning,  all  her  valuable 
articles  of  attire  ;  but  the  dreadful  certainty,  how,  that  she 
had  left  him — her  husband  in  extremity  for  a  paramour — 
the  father  of  her  children  for  a  mindless  miscreant  it  was  a 
disgrace  to  name — came  over  his  excited  and  tortured  spirit 
like  the  blast  of  the  samiel.  Plundered,  calumniated  and 
abandoned — a  broken  reed  which  not  even  his  little  babe 
could  lean  upon — without  consolation  and  without  resource 
except  in  the  restoration  of  a  mind  bowed  down  to  the  dust — 
whither  should  he  depart,  or  how  shun  the  condolements  of 
friends  and  the  insulting  pity  of  enemies  disguised  ?  His 
only  hope  was  in  oblivion.  "  My  father  was  right,"  he  mur 
mured,  "  a  woman,  once  sinning,  sins  for  ever  ;  she  passes 
beyond  all  hope  of  reprieve — all  conception  of  forgiveness. 
Oh,  'tis  bitter — bitter — bitter  to  resign  her — evil  as  she  is — 
to  lose  eternally  her  pleasant  smile,  her  winning  voice — to 
roam  along  a  lonely  traveller  in  the  wilderness  of  life — a 


*«i  k  A  Y  S     AoV  1>     L  E  G  E  X  1>  S. 

solitary  pilgrim  whom  all  know  and  none  salutes  with  kind 
ness.  But  'tis  better  to  bear  this  than  to  endure  the  wrongs 
inflicted  by  a  faithless  wife  and  a  deserting  mother ;  it  is 
better  to  die  than  to  live  dishonored." 

His  children  awoke  from  their  sinless  sleep,  and  in  their 
caresses  he  found  a  mournful  pleasure  and  an  absorbing  in 
terest  which  permitted  him  not  to  dwell  with  concentrated 
sorrow  upon  the  most  fearful  event  of  his  life.  It  is  easy 
to  discourse,  like  Fundanus,  with  philosophical  precision  and 
cogency  of  remark  upon  the  miseries  of  others,  to  assign  to 
them  their  distinctions  and  limits,  to  reprehend  their  indul 
gence  and  utter  disgust  or  indignation  over  their  excess  ; 
but  it  is  an  arduous  conquest  to  feel  and  bear  in  silence — to 
quiver  beneath  the  rack  yet  reveal  no  pang — to  dwell  in 
banishment  and  solitude  and  find  no  want  of  society.  There 
is  one  crime  in  woman  past  all  atonement ;  but  it  cannot 
efface,  in  a  feeling  heart,  remembrances  of  joy  and  affec 
tion,  of  endearments  once  sincere  and  pure,  of  sacrifices 
once  offered  up  on  the  altar  of  Love.  Though  he  d^elt 
upon  Elizabeth's  guilt  and  flight  with  the  bitterness  of  unde 
served  misfortune — though  he  knew  and  felt  that  she  had 
been  the  cause  of  all  his  wretchedness,  yet  he,  erelong,  dis 
covered  that  his  thoughts  recurred  to  her  image  with  delight 
and  lamented  rather  over  lost  enjoyment  than  present  woe. 

The  gorgeous  light  of  day  broke  in  upon  his  dismal 
thoughts ;  and,  feeling  that  the  brightness  of  life  had  de 
parted  from  his  bosom,  he  turned  to  the  glorious  suri  and 
said,  "  why  dost  thou  mock  me  with  thy  beams  ?  why  make 
visible  the  gloom  which  sinks  deeper  and  deeper  around  the 
last  joy  that  is  left  me  ?"  But  his  children  asked  for  bread 
and  he  aroused  himself  to  supply  their  necessities.  For 
getting,  for  once,  his  customary  improvidence,  he  had  pre 
served  a  few  dollars  in  secret ;  some  relics  of  his  youthful 
ornaments  yet  remained  ;  and  these  now  gave  food  to  the 


LAYS     AND     I,  E  K  E  K 11)  S.  277 

hungry  and  a  place  of  transient  sojourn  to  the  houseless. — 
Collecting  and  depositing  in  a  passing  market  waggon,  in. 
which  he  had  hired  seats  for  himself  and  his  boys,  the  miser 
able  remnants  of  his  wardrobe,  he  departed  from  the  midst 
of  a  curious  and  worthless  crowd,  who  could  wish  him  well 
and  bid  God  bless  him  though  not  one  would  have  saved 
him  from  ruin  with  the  gift  of  a  solitary  shilling.  Such  is  the 
sympathy  of  men ;  the  sources  of  respect  always  lie  among 
the  yellow  dust  of  the  mine,  and  the  waters,  that  refresh 
the  faint  wanderer,  must  flow  from  a  golden  mountain.  So 
Walter  felt,  as  he  uttered  one  cold  farewell  to  all,  and  left 
his  birthplace  without  one  lingering  look  or  sigh  over  the 
changed  and  darkened  scene. 

There  is  no  storm  like  the  exasperated  and  darkened  in 
tellect  ;  there  is  nothing  in  the  long  catalogue  of  human 
miseries  so  melancholy  as  the  ingenuous  mind  clouded  in 
the  brightness  of  being  and  convulsed  by  the  whirlwinds  of 
passion.  Early  and  dear-bought  contempt  of  the  world 
excites  pity  and  sorrow  in  thoughtful  minds ;  for  it  is  inti 
mately  associated  with  habitual  gloom  and  personal  unhappi- 
ness.  Misfortune  may  be  borne  without  affectionate  sooth 
ers  ;  it  may  exhaust  its  stores  of  grief  and  allay  itself;  but 
when  it  is  goaded  by  malevolence,  insulted  by  mediocrity 
and  pursued  by  unrelenting  hate,  the  darkness  of  a  dreadful 
purpose  settles  upon  the  brain  and  casts  the  lurid  glare  of 
disastrous  prophecy  upon  every  thought,  feeling,  person  and 
deed  from  time  to  eternity  ! 

While  Walter  thus,  in  his  desperation,  sought  his  last 
earthly  refuge  in  obscurity,  the  wife,  for  whom  he  had  sacri 
ficed  every  thing  valuable  in  existence,  was  journeying 
with  joyous  rapidity  in  the  company  of  her  lover,  towards 
the  mansion  of  her  conscious  prostitution.  She  was  flying 
with  her  lover  !  Oh,  the  miserable  perversion  of  epithet — 
the  atrocity  of  morals — the  arrogance  and  profligacy  of 


278  LAYS     AND    LEGENDS. 

remorseless  and  unrighteous  judges  !  Lover  !  shame  laughs 
and  purity  shudders  at  the  word — destruction  dwells  amidst 
the  ruins  of  his  habitation,  and  death  exults  over  his  vows 
and  his  crimes  !  Dalcho  was  an  adroit  deceiver  ;  he  com 
prehended  perfectly  the  power  of  persuasion,  the  force  of 
argument,  and  the  blandishments  of  love.  He  could  rouse 
indignation  at  inflicted  wrong,  soothe  with  bland  duplicities 
the  scorpions  of  remorse,  and  inspire  the  reluctant  spirit  of 
sin  with  the  inveterate  malignity  of  hell.  Even  now,  fail 
ing,  through  his  vices,  in  the  vocation  to  which  he  had  been 
indented,  he  turned  his  evil  thoughts,  as  an  ultimate  resort, 
to  the  ministry ;  and,  to  disguise  his  accursed  propensities 
before  the  world,  he  carried  a  concordance  in  one  pocket 
and  a  hymn  book  in  the  other,  and  at  his  different  places  of 
stoppage  on  his  lascivious  route,  while  Elizabeth  was  re 
posing  on  the  bed  of  adultery,  he  was  accustomed  to  visit 
every  country  conference,  and  exhibit  his  accomplishments 
in  the  character  of  an  "  indigent  student  of  divinity  from 

the  theological  school  of  ."     His  extemporaneous 

prayers  had  a  peculiar  unction — a  fascinating  charm  in 
their  free  expression  before  the  Deity — of  passions  and  de 
sires  not  to  be  uttered  to  man;  and  every  penitent  young 
lady  in  each  parish  he  visited,  was  willing  to  repent,  once 
for  all,  of  past  and  future  sins.  "  What  a  charming  youth !" 
said  Miss  Almira  Lily  vale — "how  I  felt  under  his  sweet 
and  refreshing  discourse  !  Oh,  how  happy  we  should  be 
under  the  ministry  of  such  a  gifted  young  man  of  God  !  he 
would  be  the  light  of  holy  love  to  every  village  and  many 
a  convert  would  call  him  blest !" 

"  Yes  !"  replied  Miss  Dolly  Freelove,  "  I  am  sure  1  ne 
ver  heard  a  sweeter  voice,  nor  saw  a  prettier  form  in  my 
life. — Did  you  observe  how  he  gazed  at  us  when  he  held 
forth  on  the  eternal  importance  of  night  conferences  and 
secret  communion  ?  Mv  heart  burned  within  me  while  he 


LAYS     AN  I)     LEGENDS. 

pictured  the  rapture  which  springs  from  concerts  and  in 
teresting  conversations  by  the  way.  How  happy  his  sis 
ter  must  be  in  such  a  friend  and  companion  ?  His  piety 
must  render  even  her  illness  blest.  Shall  we  visit  her,  Al- 
mira,  at  the  inn  ?" 

"  It  is  nearly  twelve  now,"  said  Miss  Lily  vale,  "  and  Mr. 
Dalcho  leaves  us  to-morrow  early,  for  a  southern  station. — 

That  sacred  nursery  of  gospel  teachers  at never 

sent  forth  a  more  beautiful  apostle — would  he  could  leave 
some  fruits  of  his  great  powers  behind  him  !  But  we  will 
hope  that  Providence  may  cause  him  again  to  visit  this  part 
of  his  vineyard,  and  infuse  into  us  his  spirit." 

"  Let  at  be  our  earnest  prayer  !"  exclaimed  the  exempla 
ry  Miss  Freelove,  "that  the  landmarks  of  a  cold  and  vicious 
morality  may  disappear  before  him ;  that  fervent  and  fear^ 
less  religion,  which  is  degraded  by  forms,  and  destroyed  by 
boasted  deeds,  may  triumph  in  his  eloquence,  and  breathe 
out  saving  grace  in  which  alone  all  hope  resides  ! — The 
dear  youth  hastens  to  the  field  of  his  labor ;  may  heaven 
crown  his  toil  with  increase !"  Thus  the  seducer  with  the 
desertrice  traversed  a  portion  of  our  vast  country,  not  less 
remarkable  for  its  industry,  morals,  and  true  piety,  than, 
from  that  very  reason,  for  the  facility  with  which  it  is  abus 
ed.  Grave  features,  elaborate  enunciation,  and  ready  utter 
ance  of  certain  ecclesiastical  watchwords — such  as  utter 
inability  to  do  good,  and  yet  eternal  accountability  for  doing 
ill — the  worthlessness  of  works,  and  no  redemption  without 
them — the  omnipotence  of  divine  grace,  and  the  impossibili 
ty  of  acquiring  it — constituted,  in  too  many  communities, 
almost  all  the  requisite  qualifications  of  an  expounder  of 
holy  writ,  and  a  guide  to  everlasting  happiness.  The  fluent 
use  of  terms  and  epithets  disguised  ignorance,  weakness 
and  destitution  of  principle ;  and  thus  the  cool,  collected 
and  politic  villain  was  permitted  to  pass  not  only  unpur- 


LAYS     A  N  »      L  K  O  E  N  I)  S. 


sued  by  the  maledictions  he  merited,  but  amidst  the  ap 
plauses  and  smiles  of  the  admiring  public.  The  public  ! 
armed  with  all  its  vigilance,  its  edicts,  fashions,  require 
ments  and  ceremonies,  it  is  the  prey  of  the  hypocrite,  the 
victim  of  the  prodigal  !  Law,  some  one  has  said,  is  a  web 
to  catch  insects,  but  the  daring  strong  animal  goes  free. 
Custom  is  the  tyrant  of  weak  men,  (we  may  continue  the 
apothegm)  but  the  slave  of  the  powerful  ;  and  religion  is. 
with  the  truly  good,  the  best  solace  and  support,  but  with 
the  wicked,  the  vassal  of  crime  and  the  mask  of  dishonor. 
Elizabeth,  on  her  flight,  had  written  a  long  and  artful  let 
ter  to  her  father,  assigning  cogent  reasons  for  her  conduct, 
and  giving  him  directions  for  a  reply,  which  could  not  reach 
her  till  remonstrance  would  be  in  vain  ;  but,  otherwise,  she 
had  not  dared  to  mingle  with  the  several  societies  that 
Dalcho  instructed,  nor  had  she  sought  other  happiness  than 
that  she  found  in  his  affections.  When  their  burning  lips 
met  in  a  convulsive  kiss,  she  forgot  the  husband  who  had 
adored  her  —  the  children  who  had  clung  to  her  denying 
heart  —  the  vows  she  had  uttered  —  the  faith  she  had  sacri 
ficed  —  the  sanctities  she  had  polluted  and  trampled  under 
foot.  She  met  Dalcho  with  a  smile  that  had  no  shade  of 
sadness,  for  a  thoroughly  bad  woman  cannot  be  melancholy  : 
she  admired  the  romantic  scenery,  for  a  wicked  female  can 
talk  sentiment  ;  she  complimented  her  lover  upon  his  elo 
quence  at  the  conferences,  for  she  reverenced  consummate 
deception.  Exclusively  selfish,  she  indulged  no  hope,  she 
allowed  no  thought  to  enter  her  mind  except  it  tended  to 
her  personal  gratification  ;  she  loved  others  for  her  own 
enjoyment,  and  left  them  without  hatred  or  remembrance, 
because  her  love  of  ease  would  not  permit  her  to  cherish 
an  inmate  so  annoying.  Every  thing  was  inestimable  as 
it  contributed  to  her  pleasure  ;  every  thing  disgusting  as  it 
invaded  her  tranquillity.  She  had  discovered  that  Colo- 


LAYS     AND      LEGENDS,  261 

brooke  entertained  no  hope  of  restoration  on  the  evening 
previous  to  her  flight ;  but  she  had  written  to  Dalcho  and 
appointed  a  place  of  rendezvous  before  her  last  conversa 
tion  with  her  husband. — Had  Walter  consented  to  recover 
his  estate  by  forsaking  her,  she  would  have  been  justified, 
she  thought,  in  throwing  herself  into  the  embraces  of  a  less 
treacherous  lover ;  had  he  regained  his  former  wealth 
through  the  conditional  friendship  of  some  humane  securi 
ty,  she  would  have  preferred  her  station  as  an  independent 
wife  and  honored  mother  to  the  dangerous  relation  of  a  ren 
egade  mistress;  but  seeing  nothing  left,  and  the  prospect 
of  privation  and  labor  before  her,  she  chose  to  encounter 
every  risk  and  be  subject  to  reproaches  she  had  not  prin 
ciple  enough  to  fear. 

They  embarked  at  New- York,  after  Dalcho  had  pur 
chased  for  her  the  gaieties  and  amusements  of  that  great 
city,  and  arrived  in  a  few  days  at  the  most  aristocratic  of 
the  southern  capitals.  Here  Dalcho's  first  business  was  to 
invent  letters  of  introduction  ;  his  next,  to  obtain,  upon  the 
credit  of  those  letters,  a  sufficient  collection  of  drugs,  medi 
cines,  colored  waters,  and  marble  soda  fountains  to  con 
stitute  an  inviting  establishment  as  an  apothecary.  A  sum 
of  money,  which  the  burglar  might  imagine  how  he  had 
acquired,  enabled  him  to  maintain  his  own  and  the  exorbi 
tant  expenses  of  his  reputed  sister  Elizabeth  without  en 
croaching  too  much  upon  the  good  nature  and  liberality  of 
the  southrons  ;  and  the  common  tact  of  scoundrelism,  join 
ed  to  a  manner  seductive,  courteous  and  compliant,  did  not 
leave  him  long  without  company  and  profit.  He  was  a 
punctual  observer  of  ceremonies,  a  devoted  respecter  of 
rector  and  vestry,  of  bishop  and  landgrave,  of  clergy  and 
opulent  laymen  ;  he  recommended  a  more  rigorous  system  of 
flagellation  to  the  slave  holders,  and  partook  the  sacrament; 
he  denounced  the  insolent  publicity  of  the  courtesan,  and 

36 


282  LAY  8     ANW     LEGENDS, 

went  home  to  Mrs.  Colebrooke  ;  he  advocated  the  majesty 
and  incorruptibility  of  masonry,  and  believed  Morgan  was 
a  political  phantom  ;  he  asserted  the  unalienable  rights  of 
the  state  in  opposition  to  the  general  government,  and  be 
came,  erelong,  the  fashionable  distributer  of  physic,  politics 
and  pestilence.  His  respectability  increased  in  proportion 
to  his  credit  at  the  bank ;  his  sister  Elizabeth  became  a 
favorite  among  the  exclusive  and  discerning ;  he  studied 
surgery,  and  could  amputate  an  alligator  ;  he  pursued  philo 
sophy,  and  was  able  to  solve  the  causes  of  many  things 
better  than  that  of  the  general  infatuation,  which  in  respect 
to  himself,  pervaded  the  community  ;  he  was  a  disciple  of 
the  parish  priest,  and,  being  fitted  to  distinguish  Duns  Sco- 
tus  from  Abelard  and  Calvinistic  impracticability  from  Ar- 
minian  indulgences,  he  was  esteemed  a  very  exemplary  and 
advancing  ornament  of  the  church. 

Thus  established  and  respected,  he  became  at  the  same 
time  satiated  by  the  remorseless  affections  of  Elizabeth,  and 
fearful  lest  some  unlucky  rencontre  with  a  PILGRIM  acquaint 
ance  should  overthrow  his  perfect  scheme  of  fortune.  By 
degrees  he  neglected  her,  assailed  her  with  accusations  of 
petty  offences,  and  denied  her  all  explanation.  Then,  as 
he  became  more  certain  that  his  philosophy  could  not  en 
dure  the  detection  of  his  assumed  piety,  he  poured  upon 
her  reproaches  and  abuse — shamelessly  recalled  her  first 
disgrace,  of  which  he  had  been  the  author,  and  her  latter 
desertion  of  her  family,  of  which  he  had  been  at  least  the 
encourager.  Elizabeth  saw  his  object,  and  resolved  in  her 
hardened  heart  not  to  be,  in  every  respect,  his  victim. — 
During  his  temporary  absence,  affecting  to  be  ill,  she  forced 
his  escritoir  and  took  thence  a  rouleau  of  doubloons  ;  she 
laid  unhallowed  hands  upon  his  casket  of  jewels — the  am 
biguous  legacy  of  a  Jew  whom  he  had  converted — inta 
unconsciousness ;  and,  having  deposited  these  necessary 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

atonements  for  disgrace  in  the  midst  of  her  fashionable  ha 
biliments,  she  very  quietly,  and  with  a  conscience  perfectly 
at  ease,  entered  a  postchaise,  which  three  days  before,  certain 
of  Dalcho's  departure,  she  had  ordered  to  be  ready  at  day 
light,  and  left  her  exemplary  brother  to  his  own  reflections. 
Circumvented  by  his  own  intended  sacrifice,  and  dread 
ing  to  answer  the  enquiries,  which  he  knew  would  be  in 
stituted  by  the  magnates  of  the  realm,  Dalcho  hastily  com 
mitted  his  shop  to  the  care  and  direction  of  a  congenial  spi 
rit,  whom  he  therefore  took  especial  precautions  to  bind  by 
heavy  legal  penalties  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  contract,  and, 
under  disguise  of  imperative  business,  fled  on  board  a  ves 
sel  then  leaving  the  harbor  for  the  coast  of  Africa.  Here 
he  obtained  the  lucrative  situation  of  surgeon  of  a  slave 
ship.  No  human  creature  was  ever  better  qualified  for 
such  an  office,  and  he  discharged  its  duties  with  entire  satis 
faction.  To  the  most  awful  secrecy  was  added  immediate 
and  perpetual  compliance  with  the  slave  captain's  com 
mands  ;  his  own  guilt  taught  him  not  to  expose  another's, 
and  his  druggist  scheme  of  flattery  and  submission,  not  to 
hesitate  in  the  adoption  of  any  principles  and  measures. 
He  was  required,  farther,  to  torment  the  healthy  negroes, 
that  they  might  learn  to  bear  pain  without  complaints ;  in 
this  his  surgical  skill  was  preeminent ;  and  to  despatch  those 
sickly  wretches  whom  the  sailors  disliked  to  see  thrown 
overboard  alive.  For  these  services  his  salary  was  very 
liberal;  and  by  his  sincere  devotion  to  his  captain,  he 
soon  secured  the  privilege  of  sitting  at  his  table,  and  there 
by  gratifying  his  appetite  and  thirst  with  luxuries,  while 
hundreds  were  dying  of  heat  and  famine  beneath  him.  His 
lancet  and  his  lips  were  in  constant  action — the  one  in  the 
work  of  death,  the  other  in  that  of  revelry  on  board  a  slave 
ship  under  the  blazing  sun  of  the  tropics. 


384  J,  A  Y  S     AND     LEGENDS. 

While  the  daughter  of  a  proud,  scheming,  and  evil  abuser 
of  the  gospel — the  deserting  wife  of  a  confident  and  unwise 
victim  was  gathering,  first  the  harvest  of  her  infamy,  and, 
latterly,  the  spoils  of  her  disgrace — poor  Walter  Colebrooke 
had  sought  shelter  amidst  the  ordeal  of  his  afflictions  and 
disasters  in  an  abandoned  hovel,  among  the  most  solitary 
wilds  of  Ware.  He  had  lost  his  pride,  his  capacities  of 
enjoyment,  his  erect  and  sublime  independence  of  charac 
ter — all  but  the  noble  principle,  which,  heretofore,  had 
guided  all  his  actions,  and  even  that  had  been  terribly  as 
sailed  by  the  deadening  and  destructive  influence  of  that 
transient  soother,  but  ultimate  ruin  of  many  an  exalted 
mind,  which  either  from  pleasure  or  sorrow  has  become  ha 
bituated  to  its  indulgence.  Larch  and  pine  thickets  sur 
rounded  and  overhung  his  miserable  abode,  and  indicated 
the  arid  nature  of  the  soil  around.  Mount  Monadnoch 
gazed  from  his  icy  pinnacle,  day  after  day,  upon  the  breath 
ing  monument  of  past  happiness,  and  seemed  through  its 
vast  forest  to  sigh  a  requiem  over  powers  and  feelings  there 
seemed  no  hope  of  restoring,  A  wide  and  gloomy  morass 
almost  encompassed  the  hut,  and  sent  up  from  its  pestilen 
tial  bosom  clouds  of  miasma,  which  would  have  borne 
death  to  any  other  heart.  But  the  fated  must  languish — 
the  despairing  must  expect,  year  after  year,  the  inflic 
tion  of  that  stroke,  which  terminates  all  suffering.  The 
opulent,  the  happy  may  die  in  the  very  zenith  of  their  pow 
er  artd  splendor,  but  the  poor  and  joyless  often  vainly  desire 
to  be  "  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling  and  the 
weary  are  at  rest."  Prudence,  the.  faithful  domestic, 
who  had  clung  to  him  through  every  difficulty  and  trial  of 
his  adverse  fortunes,  occupied  herself  now  in  constant  at 
tempts  to  promote  his  personal  comfort,  and  the  welfare  of 
the  children.  She  persuaded  Colebrooke  to  repair  the 


LAYS      AND      L  E  O  £  N  I>  8.  285 

desolate  hut — she  desired  a  neighboring  mechanic  to  offer 
his  services  to  her  master — she  borrowed  the  necessary 
household  utensils  and  instruments  of  labor  from  those  who, 
though  strangers  to  Walter,  had  not  forgotten  a  wise  and 
just  humanity.  The  sequestered  abode  of  the  outcast 
soon  looked,  if  not  pleasant,  yet  neat  and  orderly  ;  his  sons 
were  sent  daily  to  a  district  school,  which  assisted  by  its 
humble  efforts  in  the  dissemination  of  that  manly  knowledge 
so  characteristic  of  the  honest  and  principled  Yeomanry  of 
New  England.  When  Walter  came  home  from  the  mer 
cenary  toil,  to  which  his  utter  poverty  doomed  him  now, 
and  Prudence  read  in  his  cheerless  face  the  evidences  of 
his  wasting  despair,  she  met  him  with  kind  words  of  wel 
come  and  a  smile  of  encouragement,  and  guided  him  to  a 
healthful  repast  in  a  cleanly  room,  where  voices  of  love 
and  gratitude  saluted  his  wearied  senses  and  inspired  his 
desponding  heart.  The  effect  of  this  sublime  though  lowly 
devotion  to  his  feelings  and  interests,  was,  for  a  time,  the 
entire  abandonment  of  evil  habit,  perfect  consecration  of 
all  his  powers  to  the  good  of  the  loved  objects  still  left  ta 
him,  and  a  steady  prosecution  of  profitable  though  arduous 
labor,  which  soon  promised  to  relieve  him  from  his  present 
abject  penury. 

His  boys,  so  long  the  sport  and  prey  of  reckless  and; 
licentious  example,  now  departed  to  the  forest  school  and 
returned  to  their  humble  but  happy  home  with  elastic  steps 
and  cheerful  eyes,  which  their  father  contemplated  in  thought 
ful  silence  till  the  beautiful  light  of  his  youth,  the  bliss  of  hi* 
sinless  years  stole  over  him  with  an  elysian  influence.  He 
was  unknown  to  all  in  that  wild  region — for  none  of  the 
settlers  had  ever  seen  him  -before  and  beneath  the  ruins  of 
his  fortune  he  had  buried  his  proud  name. — "  That,  at  least,"" 
said  he,  "  shall  be  no  more  disgraced  ;  not  one  of  this  low 
throng,  with  whom  I  dig  for  hire,  shall  ever  know  that 


286  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

Walter  Colebrooke  has  sunk  to  his  condition."  Constant 
action,  nourishing  food,  and  the  abjuration  of  that  certain 
condemner  of  man — the  fluid  flame  of  hell — soon  wrought 
their  salutary  effects  upon  his  person,  thoughts  and  feelings. 
Profound  melancholy  still  sometimes  infected  his  spirit,  and 
his  sleepless  bed  of  moss  was  often  wet  with  tears  of  midnight 
agony,  which  he  forgot  to  dry,  and  no  friend  was  near  to 
wipe  away.  He  could  not  but  dwell  upon  what  had  been 
and  now  was ;  he  could  not  always  resist  the  deluge  of 
stormy  memories  nor  exorcise  the  spirits  that  arose  upon 
his  vision  from  the  shattered  and  lone  temple  of  his  affections. 
He  knew  that  Elizabeth  had  sold  herself  to  Dalcho  and  per 
dition — that  he  should  never  address  or  acknowledge  her 
again — and  the  exasperated  stings  of  wounded  pride,  yet 
looking  fondly  back  to  the  world  he  had  deserted,  often  conr 
vulsed  his  frame  with  mortal  anguish.  But  with  the  day 
light,  that  summoned  him  to  the  field,  better  and  more  tran 
quil  reflections  went  over  him  like  the  evening  breeze  of 
summer  over  the  still  waters.  His  secret,  he  thought,  was 
inviolable,  his  health  was  almost  restored,  young  minds 
began  to  develope  their  hidden  capacities  and  surround  his 
refuge  with  the  incense  of  love,  gratitude  and  respect ; 
much  yet  depended  upon  him  ;  and  the  very  consciousness 
that  others  require  our  aid  in  their  helplessness  not  seldom 
saves  us  from  destruction.  Untouched  by  his  frugal  and 
industrious  housekeeper,  his  daily  gains  accumulated,  month 
after  month,  and  inspired  him  with  a  growing  hope  that  he 
might,  in  a  few  years,  forsake  his  cabin  in  the  wildernessj 
and,  once  more,  in  a  distant  town,  among  equal  society,  and 
under  the  name  he  had  assumed,  rise  up  as  the  shorn  and 
blinded  Israelite  arose  from  his  dungeon  when  Dagon  de 
manded  his  awful  worship.  No  better  pupils  attracted 
the  regard  and  approbation  of  the  schoolmaster  than  his  ; 
no  more  obedient  children  ever  blessed  a  father  in  his  sorrow- 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS.  287 

The  boisterous  mirth  of  their  past  years  disappeared  with 
the  neglect  into  which  extravagance  and  misery  had  cast 
them  ;  they  were  too  young  to  comprehend  the  full  extent 
of  their  parent's  grief,  but,  feeling  amidst  his  sorrows  that 
his  only  joy  flowed  from  their  moral  purity  and  intellectual 
advancement,  they  omitted  no  word  or  deed  that  could 
soothe  and  please  him.  His  smile  was  their  best  reward, 
and  their  improvement  his  highest  pleasure. 

Thus  his  disasters  seemed  fruitful  of  good,  and  his  trials 
but  the  mistaken  sources  of  virtue,  knowledge  and  happi 
ness.  His  eye  grew  bright,  his  form  towered  up  in  its  manly 
pride  again,  his  labor  seemed  light  when  he  thought  upon 
his  sons,  and  every  one  respected  the  stranger  without  at 
tempting  to  search  out  the  secret  of  his  residence  among 
them. 

Thus,  with  few  events  to  diversify  his  life,  four  years 
passed  away.  The  necessity  of  unremitted  toil  allows  no 
alternations  and  changes  meriting  prolonged  description  ; 
early  slumbers  and  daylight  risings,  perpetual  fatigue,  the 
lusty  appetite  of  health  and  unbroken  rest  are  the  husband 
man's  portion  and  blessing.  Aside  from  these  common 
characteristics,  Walter  displayed  almost  uniformly,  during 
the  latter  weeks  of  the  period  mentioned,  a  moral  and  mental 
renovation,  an  aurora  borealis  of  the  mind,  whose  light,  re 
flected  from  his  better  days,  seemed  to  expand  and  increase 
in  brightness  the  longer  it  rested  on  the  ice  of  his  bosom. — 
Philosophy  and  religion  entered  the  mansion  of  woe  and 
charmed  the  dreadful  inmate  into  the  sleep  of  at  least  tran 
sient  oblivion.  The  smile  of  nature,  (that  beautiful  image 
of  the  divinity  pervading  the  world,  which  evil  passion  has 
so  long  desecrated  and  swept  with  the  besom  of  despair) 
glided  over  the  heaving  depths  of  his  spirit  and  hushed  its 
wild  mournings.  He  grew  resigned,  temperate,  benign  to 
all  and  almost  happy.  He  thought  upon  his  treacherous 


288  LAYS    AND    LEGENDS. 

wife  without  asperity,  he  recalled  the  unkind  words  and  ac 
tions  which  had  so  incensed  and  afflicted  him  after  his  mis 
fortunes,  and  forgave  them  all  in  the  sincerity  of  a  heart  that 
had  sometime  offended  and  been  forgiven. 

In  this  serene  condition,  late  in  the  autumn,  he  was  de 
sired  by  a  wealthy  farmer  to  convey  his  dairy  to  the  Boston 
market.  Such  had  been  his  industry  and  attachment  to  the 
interests  of  his  employers  that  none  feared  to  entrust  him 
with  goods  of  even  greater  value  than  those  for  which  he 
was  about  to  become  responsible.  The  loaded  wagon  was 
ready  and  early  on  the  following  day  he  was  to  depart.  He 
sat  long  that  evening  in.  silence  and  deep  thought ;  his  fea 
tures  betrayed  the  unhappy  reflections  which  were  hurry 
ing,  like  the  first  clouds  of  the  tempest,  over  his  excited  soul. 
At  length  he  said,  "come  hither,  my  children !"  and  he  folded 
them  severally  to  his  breast  with  a  prolonged  and  earnest 
strength  of  affection,  kissed  them  ardently  and  made  them 
sit  down  beside  him.  "  You  have  been  good  boys  and  I 

have  done  what  I  could  for  you  since  your  mo ,  I  mean 

since  I  was  very  poor.  You  will  not  forget  your  studies 
while  1  am  away — and  you — that  should  be  heir  to  some 
thing  more  than  poverty  and  grief — not  of  fortune  but  to 
fortune,  must  relieve  and  support  your  only  female  friend, 
for  she  is  old  and  has  been  very  faithful — till  I  come  back. 
God  knows  it  is  exceeding  hard  for  me  to  leave  you  ;  but 
Mr.  Greenwood  allows  me  liberally  for  the  journey,  and 
though  something  is  now  laid  up,  we  need  much  more. 
Do  n't  worry  poor  Prudence  by  any  idle  fears  about  me — 
the  way  is  long  but  not  solitary,  and  I  shall  find  company  on 
the  road." 

"But,  dear  father !"  said  the  eldest,  "when  will  you  re 
turn  ?  it  is  not  so  very  far  to  Boston  and  the  highways  are 
good.  When  will  you  return? 


LAYS     A  tf  I>     L  E  G  E  N  Jl  S.  29 

"  1  cannot  be  sure,  my  son  !  Time  is  necessary  to  make 
sales,  and  the  load-  is  very  large.  But  think  well  upon  your 
school  lessons  do  n't  fail  to  mind  what  Prudence  says  to 
you,  and  be  very  careful  that  no  evil  befalls  you  when  I  can 
see  you  no  more.  And  now,  my  dear  boys  !  kiss  me  again 
—tell  me  how  much  you  have  learned  when  1  come  back — 
and — and — God  Almighty  bless  and  preserve  you  !  Good 
night !  good  night  !'* 

With  a  strong  effort  he  suppressed  his  tears  until  his 
children  had  reached  their  rude  chamber ;  then  misgiving 
nature  gave  way  and  he  wept  long  and  bitterly.  Prudence 
returned  from  her  domestic  cares  and  anxiously  inquired 
the  cause  of  his  distress.  "Indeed,  I  know  not  myself!" 
said  he,  mournfully,  "  but  strange  apprehensions  haunt  mo 
that  this  journey  will  be  unfortunate.  Perhaps  my  mind 
has  been  weakened  by  sorrow,  for  I  have  had  my  portion  ; 
perhaps,  falsehood  and  desertion,  in  one  instance,  have 
made  me  overweening  and  fearful.  I  have  not  indulged 
this  desponding  mood  for  many  a  day  before,  but  I  cannot 
resist  it  now.'* 

"  1  had  hoped,  my  dear  sir,  that  this  was  over,"  said  his 
only  true  friend — the  self-sacrificing  companion  of  his  trou 
bles — "  and  it  will  sorely  grieve  me  if  you  go  away  with  a 
heavy  heart ;  it  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  go  at  all — 
stay,  I  beseech  you,  if  you  have  cause  to  fear  any  danger 
or  trouble.'* 

"  I  have  no  cause,  Prudence !  I  felt  very  content  till  I 
started  from  Mr.  Greenwood's  to  come  home,  and  then,  all 
on  a  sudden,  something  shot  across  my  mind  that  1  should 
never  more  return  from  this  journey.  But,  perhaps,  I  am 
acting  very  foolishly  ;  I  do  not  wish  to  leave  my  poor  boys 
alone  in  this  hard-hearted  world,  and  the  thought  that  some 
evil  might  happen  to  them  or  you  or  me  is,  I  doubt  not,  now, 
the.  only  source  of  the  uneasiness  I  feel.  But  if  any  thing 

37 


LAYS     ANIJ     LEGENDS. 


unlucky  should  chance  to  me,  you  will  find  a  letter  to  my 
father  in  that  bureau  and  a  small  sum  of  money  to  supply 
your  wants.  I  commit  my  dear  boys  to  your  faithful  charge 
and  know  that  you  will  take  them  to  my  father's  house,  if  I 
do  not  return.  Nay,  my  kind  friend,  shed  no  tears  over 
fancies  !  every  one's  life  is  doubtful  and  in  health  we  should 
prepare  for  death.  If  I  am  alive,  three  weeks  from  this 
time,  you  will  see  me  again ;  if  not,  carry  my  children  to 
their  grandfather's  house  ;  and  may  heaven  bless  you  and 
them  !" 

Walter  arose,  ere  dawn,  from  his  miserable  unrest,  and, 
after  partaking  slightly  of  a  generous  breakfast  which 
awaited  him,  he  bade  farewell  to  his  old  devoted  and  weep 
ing  friend,  and  commenced  his  journey.  His  hovel  was  eve 
rywhere  environed,  as  has  been  said,  by  gloomy  woods  and 
marshes,  and  he  had  slowly  travelled  the  ill-made  forest 
road  for  nearly  half  a  mile  ere  a  rising  ground  permitted 
him  to  look  back  upon  his  tabernacle  in  the  wilderness.  He 
paused,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  his  lips  quivered  be 
neath  the  agony  of  thoughts  they  would  not  utter.  An 
awful  stillness  hung  over  the  dense  forest ;  the  cold  melan 
choly  dawn  dimly  showed,  through  floating  vapor,  his  hum 
ble  dwelling  standing,  as  he  did  among  men,  in  utter  soli 
tude.  But  the  blue  swelling  smoke  reminded  him  that  one 
heart  still  cherished  for  him  and  his  boys  a  spotless  and 
profound  affection  which  age  could  not  extinguish  nor  mis 
fortune  lessen.  Cheered  by  that  consoling  truth,  and  resolv 
ed,  through  every  peril,  to  do  his  perfect  duty,  he  withdrew 
the  last  glance  he  was  ever  to  cast  upon  the  home  of  his 
sorrows,  and  with  a  loud  urging  cry  to  his  horses,  that 
echoed  ominously  through  the  deep  woods,  he  plunged 
down  the  eminence  and  gained  the  highroad  to  Boston. 
The  beautiful  sun  of  autumn  was  lighting  him  on  his  unat 
tended  expedition,  ere  the  tender  sufferers  by  orphanage. 


IiAYS      AND     LEGENDS.  291 

that  springs  not  from  the  grave,  awoke  and  looked  vainly 
around  for  a  father  they  would  see  no  more. 

The  fortune  of  others  will  often  flourish  most  in  the  hands 
of  the  habitually  unfortunate,  and  he  who  in  his  youth  has 
toiled  in  hopelessness  and  in  his  manhood  shrunk  from  the 
conflict  of  implacable  animosities,  where  his  own  person  or 
interest  is  unconnected,  may  "  win  golden  opinions  from 
all  sorts  of  men."  This  Walter  proved  when  utter  poverty 
had  exorcised  the  malign  demon  of  his  fate,  and  his  prudence 
and  sagacity  contributed  to  prosperity  and  opulence  not  his 
own.  Ere  the  lapse  of  a  se'ennight,  he  had  wisely  dis 
charged  his  office  in  Boston  and  was  prepared  to  return  with 
honor  to  render  an  account  of  his  stewardship.  Conscious 
that  none  could  have  fulfilled  with  better  discretion  the  ex 
pectations  of  the  farmer,  he  was  returning,  late  at  night, 
along  Cornhill,  (it  bears  a  loftier  appellation  now)  sadly  re 
flecting  on  the  many  sorrows  and  abasements  to  which,  in 
his  brief  pilgrimage,  he  had  been  singularly  exposed ;  but 
his  thoughts  had  lost  in  their  humility  much  of  the  bitter 
exasperation  which  his  trials  had  been,  previously,  calcu 
lated  to  inspire.  He  was  now  utterly  alone,  and  his  hoard 
ed  affections,  defying  the  wrong,  the  opprobrium,  the  deser 
tion  and  despair  of  other  years,  burst  from  the  fountain  of 
his  heart  in  a  tumultuous  flood.  He  again  met  Elizabeth 
in  the  assemblies  of  youth,  and  his  spirit  luxuriated  in  her 
winning  smile  ;  he  led  her  to  the  altar  of  Love  and  felt  that 
her  presence  was  paradise  ;  he  clasped  his  firstborn  to  his 
bosom,  and  exclaimed  "  I  am  too  blest  for  earth  in  the  pos 
session  of  all  that  makes  the  bliss  of  heaven."  Then  suc 
cessive  seasons  of  rewarded  industry  and  calm  enjoyment 
and  enlarged  influence  floated  over  his  soul  and  renewed 
their  various  scenes  to  his  melancholy  contemplation. 
With  a  fascinated  fondness,  a  delirious  devotion,  he  still 
dwelt  upon  the  memory  of  his  dishonored  wife  ;  and,  as  the 


£  A  Y  S     A  N  J»      L,  K  G  E  N  I)  S. 

eastern  convict,  doomed  to  approach  the  terrible  upas  and 
gather  up  its  poison,  looks  earnestly  at  each  trembling  step 
for  some  faint  impressions  of  a  returning  footprint — some 
vestige  of  safely  accomplished  penance  ; — so  Colebrooke, 
even  against  his  prouder  and  purer  nature  yet  dared  to 
hope  that  Elizabeth  might  be  rescued  from  her  desperation — 
might  even  be  restored — he  did  almost  think — to  her  mo 
therless  children  in  the  forest.  Mitigated  by  the  balmy 
breath  of  concentrated  affection,  even  her  guilt  seemed, 
less  unpardonable,  less  meriting  direful  punishment  than  at 
its  first  commission,  and  in  the  humbled  spirit  of  poor  Wal 
ter,  thus  wandering  in  his  loneliness,  the  thought  that  she 
might  discover  his  solitary  home  of  banishment,  lament  the 
error  of  her  sad  temptation,  and  implore  the  forgiveness 
which  he  was,  even  now,  too  much  disposed  to  grant,  came 
over  his  grieved  mind  like  the  breath  of  paradise,  and  re 
vived  the  buried  feelings  of  a  time  when  earth  was  like  the 
echoing  vestibule  of  an  eternal  temple  in  the  skies. 

While  thus,  amidst  his  mournful  and  perilous  thoughts, 
he  was  building  again  the  sacred  altar  of  the  heart,  he  did 
not  remark  a  tattered  and  pallid  figure  which  had  frequent 
ly  crossed  his  path  and  solicited  his  attention.  Absorb 
ed  in  his  own  visions,  he  depended  not  upon  his  senses  for 
aid,  but  moved  on  mechanically,  without  lifting  his  eyes 
from  the  pavement,  upon  which  they  were  fixed  with  un 
conscious  earnestness,  until  he  turned  into  the  ill  lighted 
and  narrow  street  which  led  to  his  humble  inn.  Nor  would 
he  then  have  discovered  distinctly  any  object  in  his  path 
but  for  a  sound  scarcely  articulate,  which  fell  suddenly 
upon  his  ear.  Alive  to  every  indication  of  distress,  he 
ejaculated,  "  who  called  so  sadly  ?"  for  at  the  moment,  he 
did  not  discover  an  emaciated  female  form  shrinking  into 
the  shadow  of  a  gateway.  "  One,"  replied  a  voice  hollow 
with  famine  and  agony  and  disgrace,  "  one  who  had  friend? 


LAYS     AND     LEGENDS.  293 

once — who  has  none  now  ;  who  was  loved  and  who  dis 
honored  that  love ;  who  sought  ease  and  wealth  by  deser 
tion  and  perfidy,  and  has  been  rewarded  by  infamy  and 
houseless  want."  Colebrooke  heard  these  words  rapidly 
uttered  by  a  faltering  voice  with  painful  attention,  and  re 
plied  in  accents  of  sorrow:  "Too  many  such  as  you 
describe  haunt  the  darkened  wayside,  and  prey  upon  yet 
uncorrupted  humanity ;  yet  not  the  less,  from  my  heart  I 
pity  them.  How  can  I  relieve  you?  I  have  not  gold  of 
my  own — for  Providence  saw  fit  in  its  inscrutable  dispen 
sations,  to  deprive  me  of  my  youth's  heritage — but  I  think 
that  in  such  a  cause  as  this  I  may  use  a  pittance  of  another's 
portion."  As  he  spoke  in  the  distinct  and  manly  voice  of 
happier  feelings  and  better  days,  he  advanced  a  few  paces 
to  a  solitary  lamp,  and,  opening  his  pocketbook,  took  a 
small  note  from  the  roll  and  went  forward  to  present  it  to 
the  wanderer.  But  he  had  scarcely  moved  three  paces  ere 
the  female  sprung  from  her  hiding-place,  and  with  a  shriek 
that  passed  through  Colebrooke's  heart  and  brain,  dashed 
herself  violently  upon  the  street. — Amazed  and  distressed 
at  this  unaccountable  phrenzy,  he  hastened  to  raise  her, 
when  she  started  from  the  earth  with  the  quickness  of  terror 
and  despair,  threw  open  her  shredded  and  squalid  cloak, 
and,  dashing  the  long,  halfgrey  and^matted  locks  from  her 
forehead,  shrieked  out,  "  Walter — Walter  Colebrooke  !  do 
you  know  me  ?  Do  you  know  the  wife  who  wronged  you 
— the  mother  that  left  her  babes  for  a  paramour — the  wretch 
who  plunged  into  vice  and  found  despair — who  fled  from 
the  temple  of  her  God  and  entered  the  hell — the  earthly 
hell  of  never  dying  remorse  ?" 

Who  shall  depict  the  terrible  agony  of  that  moment  ? 
There  in  the  utter  wretchedness  and  abandonment  of  pover 
ty  and  crime,  stood  the  once  beautiful  and  beloved  Eliza 
beth — pale,  famished  and  hopeless— her  dark  eyes  glaring 


294  LAYS     AND      LEGENDS. 

from  their  sunken  sockets  with  an  expression  of  mingled 
horror  and  ferocity,  her  bloodless  lips  quivering  with  un 
utterable  thoughts,  and  every  feature  of  her  once  worship 
ped  countenance  distorted  by  that  anguish  which  has  neither 
counterpart  nor  comforter — the  one  awful  pang  of  self-con 
demnation.  Before  her  stood  Colebrooke — but  I  cannot 
paint  his  feelings  or  his  face  at  such  a  moment  as  this. 
Had  all  the  fears  and  tortures  of  all  time  been  condensed 
into  one  single  cup  of  madness  ;  had  the  countless  floods  of 
affliction  drowned  his  soul,  and  the  fires  of  persecution  lapt 
up  the  very  life  blood  of  his  heart ;  he  could  not  have  ex 
hibited  a  more  awful  statue.  Fixed,  as  if  fascinated,  upon 
that  countenance,  every  line  of  which  coiled  like  serpents 
when  the  poison  is  pouring  through  every  vein,  his  eyes 
seemed  not  to  behold  her ;  strained  to  the  most  intense  de 
gree  of  human  suffering,  his  ears  heard  nothing  but  that 
one  name,  "Elizabeth;"  wrought  to  agony  that  has  no 
voice,  his  spirit  sunk  beneath  the  horror  of  his  fate,  and  the 
earth  and  skies  whirled  around,  above  and  below  him, 
amidst  a  chaos  of  undistinguishable  light  and  darkness. 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  me,  Colebrooke  ?  I  would  not 
again  .defraud  you.  Look  not  on  me  thus,  Walter?  oh,  let 
me  once  more  utter  that  blasphemed  name  !  look  not  thus 
— curse  me — pour  upon  me  the  hottest  maledictions  of  your 
righteous  wrath — but  let  me  hear  your  voice,  Walter — oh, 
gaze  not  thus  on  my  guiltiness  !  O  God  !  O  God  !"  she 
continued,  laying  her  shrivelled  and  cold  hand  upon  his 
dropped  and  unresisting  arm,  "  I  have  murdered  his  mind 
— 1  have  driven  him  mad  by  my  accursed  presence  !  Wal 
ter — O  my  poor  deserted  husband  !  gaze  not  so  upon  the 
void  air — tell  me — speak  once — are  your  children  alive  and 
well — mine  I  would  say,  but  dare  not — are  they  all  living, 
Walter  ?"  But  Colebrooke's  eyes  changed  not  their  rivet- 
ted,  awful,  unconscious  glare — not  a  muscle  moved — not  a 


LAYS     AND     LEGEN1)S.  295 

sound  was  heard.  He  stood  in  life  with  the  rigidity  and 
pallor  of  death,  and,  but  for  a  deep,  irregular  and  panting 
respiration,  none  would  have  thought  that  he  had  earthly 
being.  "  Silent !  distracted  by  my  guilt !  Oh  Eternal  Judge 
of  heaven  and  earth !  take  my  life  but  restore  him  to  him 
self!  let  thy  just  indignation  rest  on  me,  but  spare  him — 
spare  him  to  the  world  he  has  not  wronged — to  the  children 
he  adores  !" 

The  vain  prayer  had  not  passed  her  lips  ere  Walter, 
without  stooping  from  his  upright  position,  fell  like  a  lifeless 
rock  upon  the  pavement.  The  slight  hold  and  exhausted 
strength  of  Elizabeth  had  but  little  broken  the  violence  of 
his  fall,  and  he  lay  passive  and  stunned  beneath  the  implor 
ing  cries  and  tears  of  the  outcast.  At  that  instant  a  horri 
ble  thought  seemed  to  seize  upon  her  agonized  memory, 
and,  exerting  all  her  force,  she  partially  lifted  him  from  the 
earth,  chafed  his  deathlike  hands,-  and  shrieked,  "  O  Wal 
ter  !  Colebrooke  !  wake — wake — you  will  be  murdered  ! 
O  God  !  I  did — in  the  madness  of  my  despair — of  my  fa 
mine — I  did  agree  with  two  villains  to  rob  in  the  streets 
to-night,  and  I  should  give  the  signal !  They  will  be  here 
without  it — Walter !  wake — wake  for  the  mercy  of  heaven  ! 
He  hears  me  not — he  will  hear  no  more  !  They  will  plun 
der — they  will  murder  him  !  Ho  !  help  !  help  !  help  !"  Un 
heard  by  those  for  whom  it  was  intended,  her  cry  quickly 
fell  upon  senses  sharpened  by  famine,  peril  and  desperation. 
The  secreted  associates  of  Elizabeth  hurried  up  the  lonely 
street  with  the  eagerness  of  jaguars.  "  Not  here — not 
here  !  remorseless  villains  !  not  here  !"  screamed  the  evil 
and  maddened  woman; — "come  not  near  him — I  have 
given  no  signal — this  is  not  the  man — away — away  !" 

"  Softly,  mistress "  replied  the  fiercer  robber,  "this  is 
as  good  as  any — we're  in  for't — and  he's  quieter  now, 
thanks  to  you,  my  Lady  !  than  some  would  be — comer  let's 


29(»  LAYS     A  JV  »    L  K  G  E  M)  S. 

see  what  's  inside  here."  "  Begone,  ye  pitiless  monsters  ! 
I  will  raise  the  town — ye  shall  hang  for  this — ho  !  watch ! 
watch  !  watch  !"  The  voice '  of  Elizabeth,  raised  by  ex 
cruciated  feelings,  went  through  the  street  and  up  the  still 
beholding  skies  with  terrible  distinctness  ;  but  the  robbef 
had  seized  the  purse  in  Colebrooke's  possession  and  a  second 
more  would  have  seen  him  in  safety  with  his  plunder,  but 
for  the  convulsive  grasp  of  his  late  accomplice  and  present 
foe.  "  Loose  your  hold,  woman  !  or  my  dirk  shall  do  it. 
Let  go,  I  say  ;  you  have  called  me  villain — and  you  led  me 
on  to  this — you  have  called  me  monster — and  you  planned 

the  robbery — you ."    "  Help  !  murder  !  robbery !  help !" 

shrieked  the  gasping  woman,  still  clinging  with  the  tenacity 
of  death  to  the  body  of  the  plunderer.  The  robber  strug 
gled  with  gigantic  strength  to  escape  ;  he  had  no  thought 
for  words  ;  the  whole  force  .of  his  nature  was  concentrated 
and  he  dragged  the  guilty  woman  some  paces  ere  her  ob 
stinate  perseverance  and  his  own  danger  turned  his  cor 
rupted  and  fearful  soul  into  fury.  Strong  men  were  close 
upon  him — the  very  breath  of  the  foremost  could  be  dis 
tinctly  heard ;  his  sinewy  hand  was  outstretched  to  seize 
the  criminal.  "  Quick  !  quick  !"  gasped  Elizabeth.  The 
bright  blade  of  a  dagger  glanced  in  the  lamp-light ;  the 
gory  form  of  the  guilty  wife  rolled  on  the  earth,  and  the 
assassin  fled  like  the  winds  of  the  desert. 

Three  of  the  guardians  of  the  night  hasted  in  pursuit  of 
the  slayer ;  the  remainder  stood  around  the  fallen.  They 
lifted  Elizabeth  gently,  but  the  blood  poured  in  a  torrent 
from  the  deep  vital  wound,  and,  with  scarcely  a  hope  that 
any  care  or  science  could  avail,  they  stanched  the  bubbling 
orifice  and  despatched  one  of  their  number  for  a  surgeon  in 
the  neighborhood.  "  But  who  is  this  ?  another  stabbed  ? 
said  the  watchman,  bending  over  Walter.  "  He  has  been 
robbed — this  woman  gave  the  alarm,"  replied  his  fellow. 


LAVS     AND     LEGENDS.  207 

"-though  she  seems  little  likely  to  use  her  trumpet  voice 
again."  "  But  he  is  dead,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  or  I  have  no 
skill  in  pulse  or  breath." 

"  Who  speaks  of  death  ?"  said  Elizabeth,  with  the  slow 
utterance  of  exhausted  nature.  "  He  was — my  husband — - 
once,  and  now — I  have  wronged — and  killed  him." 

"  You  did  not  strike  the  plundered  man  ?"  asked  the 
watchman  quickly. 

" Not  with  my  hand — but  yet  upon  his  heart"  answered 
Elizabeth  in  the  last  feeble  tones  that  ever  vibrated  on  those 
pallid  and  polluted  lips. 

The  surgeon  arrived  to  look  upon  the  dead — for  no  life 
was  left  to  restore.  The  papers  found  upon  Colebrooke's 
person  gave  his  address  and  that  of  the  merchant  with  whom 
he  had  recently  dealt,  and  from  a  full  settlement  with  whom 
he  was  returning  to  his  inn.  Little  time  was  spent,  there 
fore,  in  investigation ;  the  Jury's  verdict  satisfied  all  curi 
osity  by  proclaiming  that  Walter  Colebrooke  died  by  the 
bursting  of  a  blood  vessel  near  the  heart,  and  his  wife  Eliza 
beth  by  a  wound  inflicted  by  a  person  or  persons  unknown. 
In  a  lone  and  unvisited  corner  of  a  solitary  church-yard, 
beyond  the  confines  of  Boston,  repose  the  unhappy  beings, 
whom  nature  fitted  to  reciprocate  the  joys  she  offered,  but 
whom  evil  education  doomed  to  a  joyless  life  and  unnatural 
death. 

The  history  of  female  frailty  is  always  the  same.  From 
the  blush  of  offended  purity  to  the  conscious  smile  over  con 
versation  dubious  or  profane  and  high- wrought  descriptions 
of  scenes  in  which  Love  is  not  only  the  winged  god  of 
sentiment  but  the  infallible  pontiff  and  judge  of  good  and 
evil,  is  the  first  transition.  From  the  sufferance  of  immo 
rality  in  others  to  the  commission  of  it  in  one's  own  person, 
there  is  little  gradation,  and  thence  the  path  lies  broad  and 
unimpeded.  Guilt  and  splendor  and  a  hushed  conscience— 

38 


LAYS     A  ST  I)     I*  £  C  K  »  »  S. 

neglect,  crimination,  scorn,  loathing,  revenge  and  remorse 
follow  with  terrible  velocity.  Then  come  shamelessness, 
despair,  malady,  the  only  poverty  that  mocks  at  relief,  un- 
solaeed  death — and  unhonored  burial.  Such  was  the  road 
Elizabeth  trod  ;  such,  thousands  tread  through  life ! 

Dalcho,  returning  from  his  Gold  Coast  expedition  and 
finding  his  unenviable  reputation  less  flagrant  than  he  dread 
ed,  became  suddenly  convinced  that  the  cure  of  souls  was  a 
more  profitable  business  than  the  death  of  bodies,  and  seri 
ously  convicted  of  the  necessity  of  imposing  upon  the 
world's  credulity :  wherefore,  ere  the  departure  of  a  twelve 
month,  he  was  thoroughly  converted — into  the  disgraced  and 
desecrated  priesthood.     To  prevent  the  necessity  of  others 
asking  the  same  favor,  when  denial  would  be  dangerous,  an 
opulent  lady  charitably  bestowed  her  person  and  fortune 
upon,  the  rescued  slave-surgeon.     Dalcho  lived  and  flourish 
ed  j  for  though  he  was  despised  and  shunned  by  the  virtu 
ous,  the  world  cannot  distinguish  between  religion  and 
hypocrisy,  talent  and  audacity,  virtue  and  masked  vice.    No* 
one  fulminated  his  holy  vengeance  with  more  effect  against 
every  species  of  offence  than  the  accursed  seducer,  and  hop 
ing  to  become  a  bishop  of  the  flock,  none  lifted  his  eyes  at 
the  reading  desk  with  greater  fervor  to  the  heavens,  none 
poured  his  menaces  and  implorings  forth  withmore  subduing 
wnction.     The  wronged  husband,  the  ruined  father,  the 
guilty  wife  and  sinless  children  had  been  offered  up  on  the 
Moloch  shrifie  of  this  leprosied  and  sacrilegious  priest ;  but. 
on  earth  the  obscure  and  almost  forgotten  name  of  Cole- 
bpooke  would  not  again  be  uttered  to  his  soul,  and  the  re 
membered  ruse,  he  had  played,  was  held  to  be  an  excellent 
jest  or  venial  compliance  with  the  feelings  of  nature.     On 
the  very  day  that  Walter  and  Elizabeth  lay  cold  side  by 
side,  in  the  sepulchre,  he  preached,  from  a  carved  pulpit^ 
with  scarlet  and  gold,  to  a  fashionable  congrega- 


LA.YS 


tionfrom  the  text,  "Crucify,  therefore,  the  flesh  with  its 
affections  and  lusts  ;"  and  liberally  dispensed  temporal  and 
deathless  punishment  to  all  who  had  neither  the  subtiity  to 
conceal  vice  beneath  the  robe  of  audacity,  nor  power  to 
dare  the  world  to  the  proof  of  its  perpetration. 

Seized  ere  he  reached  a  refuge,  tried,  convicted  and 
"sentenced  to  the  felon's  doom  —  the  life-in-death  within  for 
ever  impassable  walls,  the  less  guilty  robber  groaned  in  in 
famous  bondage  all  his  days.  The  assassin  escaped  from 
earth  and  agony  on  the  gallows,  amidst  holy  consolations, 
protracted  prayers,  psalm  music,  and  evangelical  hopes  of 
forgiveness!  So  said  the  journals  of  the  day  :  and  from  other 
examples  of  that  magnificent  charity  which  comforts  the 
manacled  murderer  with  revelations  of  paradise,  we  can 
not  doubt  the  record  was  true,  which  said  that  penitence, 
when  the  deed  was  done  and  could  not  be  repeated,  and 
sudden  sorrow  for  sins,  which  could  not  be  again  enjoyed, 
were  considered  a  valid  foundation  for  the  palace  of  eternal 
bliss. 

Contrary  to  the  approved  and  immemorial  custom  in  such 
cases,  the  administrators  of  the  law  did  actually  restore  to 
Mr.  Greenwood  the  money  taken  from  the  robber  ;  and  re 
turning  to  his  ample  possessions,  he  bound  himself  by  an 
oath  never  again  to  commit  his  interests  into  the  hands  of 
any  man  who  had  feeling  enough  to  die  for  unmerited  dis 
honor,  hopeless  penury,  and  a  blighted  name. 

Beneath  the  roof  of  their  grandfather,  the  orphan  childrea 
of  sorrow  found  a  refuge  from  the  tempest  ;  a  home  in  the 
wilderness  of  being,  where  industry,  honor  and  content 
walked  calmly  beneath  the  smile  of  God  ;  and,  often  as  his 
few  white  hairs  streamed  over  their  saddened  faces,  while 
he  discoursed  tearfully  of  his  high-hearted  son,  long  buried 
feelings  of  early  love,  hope  and  ambition  —  the  cloud-painted 
anticipations  of  a  young  father  —  came  over  the  bereaved 


300  LAYS     AND     LEGENDS. 

heart  of  the  aged  parent,  and  he  would  sigh  and  murmur  in 
his  dreams,  "  let  not  a  thought  soil  the  virgin  purity  of  the 
betrothed ;  Jet  not  a  whisper  of  indiscretion  assail  the  wed 
ded  bosom,  for  better  is  the  desert  without  a  fountain  than 
wedlock  with  distrust,  love  without  wisdom,  and  children 
without  inheritance  !" 


NOTES 


THE    LAST    NIGHT    OF    POMPEII. 


NOTE  1,  p.  17. —  The  hoar  Apennines. 

I  have  represented  Mount  Vesuvius  throughout  the  poem  as  a 
portion  of  the  Campanian  hills. 

NOTE  2,  p.  18. —  Thou  needest  not  thy  tephilim — 

The  prestiges  of  Augurs. 

Charms  in  Hebrew  and  pagan  worship,  the  tricks  of  jug 
glers  and  imaginary  protections  against  evil  spirits  and  earthly 
calamities. 

NOTE  3,  p.  25. — Cabiri. 

Mysterious  demigods  of  Egypt  and  Samothrace. 
NOTE  4,  p.  26. —  The  Ambracian  waters  were  not  deeper  dyed. 
The  battle  of  Actium,  fought  upon  the  Ambracian  gulf,  for 
ever  decided  the  fate  of  Roman  liberty.     The  glory  of  Octavius 
Caesar  rose  from  the  blood  of  that  fearful  day,  and  most  fearfully 
did  it  glow  till  barbarian  retribution  made  Italy's  charms  a  curse. 

NOTE  5,  p.  27. — Diomede's  apparitors. 

I  have  appropriated  to  the  chief  Ruler  of  Pompeii  the  name 
of  its  wealthiest  citizen.  It  has  been  asserted,  by  some,  that  he 
was  only  a  freedman,  yet  the  Emperors  seldom  hesitated  to  con 
fer  their  judicial  or  fiscal  offices  upon  any  who  scrupled  not  to 
embrace  the  most  oppressive  means  in  the  irresponsible  adminis 
tration  of  power.  His  character,  therefore,  as  I  have  attempted 
to  depict  it,  would  synchronize  with  the  condition  of  the  age  and 
the  avowed  crimes  of  Pompeii.  Apparitors  were  officers  of  justice 
or  injustice — bailiffs — so  called  from  their  suddenly  appearing 
when  undesired. 

NOTE  6,  p.  33. — Judah's  peerless  monarch. 
Solomon.     "  Vanity  of  vanities  !  all  is  vanity." 


302  NOTES, 

NOTE  7,  p.  42. — In  worship  to  the  dread  Labarum. 
The  Standard  of  the  Roman  Emperors. 

NOTE  8,  p.  49. — The  story  of  his  doom. 
Both  the  time  and  mode  of  St.  Paul's  martyrdom  are  problemati 
cal.  The  opinion  is  generally  received  that  he  died  during  the  per 
secution  of  Nero,  about  ten  years  before  the  period  of  my  story ; 
but  as  chronologists  differ  and  biographers  cannot  agree,  I  have 
assumed  the  right  to  narrate  his  death,  in  the  person  of  Pansa,  as 
in  the  text. 

NOTE  9,  p.  54. — The  Accursed  fold. 

The  Campus  Sceleratus,  where  vestal  virgins  were  buried 
alive  when  they  followed  the  example  of  Rhoea  Sylvia.  The 
Tarpeian  Rock  was  not  far  removed  from  such  appropriate 
neighborhood. 

NOTE  10,  p.  54. — The  aruspices  in  purple  tralea  walked. 
The  prognosticates  of  Rome  were  allowed  extraordinary 
honors ;  and  their  trabe»  or  robes  of  office  nearly  resembled 
those  of  the  Emperors.  Every  superstition  exalts  its  expositors  ; 
and  the  Roman  priests  well  knew  the  power  which  fe;ir  and  igno 
rance  conferred  upon  them,  and  abhorred  in  the  same  degree  that 
.they  dreaded  the  illumination  of  Christianity.  The  fasces,  the 
trabeae,  pretextae,  and  curule  chair  were  introduced  by  Tarquin 
Priscus  from  conquered  Tuscany. 

NOTE  11,  p.  56. — The  Gracchi  from  the  Aventine  dragged  forth. 
For  attempting  by  the  enactment  of  the  Agrarian  Law,  to 
restrain  the  exorbitant  power  of  the  patricians,  Tiberius  Gracchus 
was  assassinated  in  the  Capitol  by  Scipio  Nasica  ;  Caius  Grac 
chus  and  Fulvius  Flaccus  were  killed  by  Opimius,  the  consul ; 
Saturninus  the  tribune  was  murdered  by  a  mob  of  Conscript 
Fathers ;  and  Livius  Drusus,  on  the  same  account,  w?s  slain  in 
his  own  house.  All  in  Rome,  who  could  not  trace  their  descent 
from  the  highwayman  Romulus  or  some  one  of  his  least  merciful 
banditti,  were  esteemed  no  better  than  vassals.  The  Romans 
never  understood  either  justice,  mercy,  or  freedom  ;  their  do 
minion  was  acquired  by  tiie  sword  without  remorse,  and  it  perish 
ed  by  the  sword  without  regret. 

NOTE  12,  p.  59. — The  isles  shall  wait,  Jehovah!  for  thy  law. 

I  have  made  the  dying  ejaculations  of  St.  Paul  to  consist 
mostly  of  portions  of  his  own  powerful  writings.  Nothing  more 
beautiful  or  splendid  can  be  found  in  any  compositions — more  vivid 
with  the  heart's  best  emotions  and  the  mind's  most  lofty  concep- 


N  O  T  K  S.  303 

lions — lhan  the  remonstrances  and  arguments  of  the  great  Apos 
tle,  who  devoted  himself  to  the  propagation  of  that  religion  he 
had  once  assailed,  with  an  energy  and  enthusiasm  and  utter 
oblivion  of  self,  which  should  find  more  imitators  among  the  cu 
rates  of  men's  souls. 
NOTE  13,  p.  63. — Shalt  quaff  the  massic  or  the  tears  of  Christ. 

The  wine  of  Mvunt  Vesuvius  is  profanely  called  Lacrymse 
Christi. 

NOTE  14,  p.  65. — The  Mamertine  abysses. 

Dungeons  even  more  horrible  than  those  of  Venitian  and 
Ausfrian  tyranny,  dug  immediately  beneath  the  elevated  seat  of 
the  Praetor,  in  the  hall  of  judgment ;  and  so  called  from  the 
Roman  consul  Mamertinus,  who  planned  their  construction,  and 
who  should  have  been,  like  Phalaris  and  the  inventor  of  the 
guillotine,  the  first  to  test  the  merit  of  his  philanthropic  in 
genuity. 

NOTE  15,  p.  70. — For  they  were  stricken  from  the  roll  of  men 
And  banished  from  humanity. 

Probably  among  no  people,  not  even  the  mercenary  Africans 
themselTes,  who  are  always  more  ready  to  sell  than  the  Christian 
trafficker  is  to  buy,  was  the  condition  of  slaves  so  utterly  hopeless 
and  irreclaimable  as  in  the  republics  of  Greece  and  Rome. 
Their  vivid  jealousy  of  personal  privileges  peculiarly  fitted  them 
to  tyrannize  ever  every  people  not  incorporated  within  their  char 
tered  dominions.  Nothing  is  so  cruel  as  boasting  philanthropy  ; 
nothing,  so  unjust  as  a  dominant  hierarchy ;  nothing,  so  ca 
pricious  and  despotic  as  an  unrestrained  democracy. 

NOTE  16,  p,  71. —    -------    gazed, 

Bewildered  on  the  ampJiora — 

The  priests  of  Pompeii  were  no  believers  in  a  preshadowed 
Mahcmmedan  sobriety  or  the  Genevan  doctrine  of  total  absti 
nence  ;  but,  rather,  devout  apostles  of  good  fellowship,  bonhommie 
and  bienseance,  whose  credenda  have  lacked  no  devotees  among  the 
administrators  of  a  very  different  religion.  Their  amphorae  or 
wine  casks  were  always  amply  supplied  by  votaries  who  did  not 
doubt  that  their  spiritual  guides  possessed  the  same  prerogatives 
in  Tartarus  which  less  remote  exclusives  in  sanctity  assume  to  ex 
ercise  in  Hades.  The  skeletons  of  many  priests,  on  the  excava 
tion  of  Pompeii,  were  found  amidst  the  relics  of  their  revel. 
Can  we  suppose  that  even  the  ministers  of  a  degraded  superstition 
and  a  most  lascivious  mythology  could  trust  in  the  protection  of 
Jove  or  Osiris  ?  or  must  we  rather  conclude  that  criminal  appe-' 


304  NOTES. 

tite  excluded  natural  fear  and  that  they  reasoned,  like  Pompey  on 
his  last  journey — "  It  is  necessary  that  we  should  be  gluttons  and 
revellers,  but  it  is  not  necessary  that  we  should  live."  ? 

NOTE  17,  p.  75. — Untrimmed  lamps 

Sculptured  uith  shapes  of  ribaldry  to  lure. 

The  sensualities  of  Pompeii  were  not  restricted  by  any  defer 
ence  to  decorum  even  in  external  dissembling  j  but  the  passions, 
which  burned  in  their  bosoms,  were  too. graphically  represented 
upon  their  customary  utensils.  The  secret  deposites  of  the  Mu 
seum  Borbonico  at  Naples  will  illustrate  this  to  any  who  are  in 
credulous  of  the  noisome  excess  to  which  sin  may  be  extended. 

NOTE  1 8,  p.  77. —  The  Sybarite  from  Salmacis  arose. 

Even  in  an  age  proverbial  for  its  effeminacy  and  vice,  the  Sy 
barites  were  quoted  as  the  acme  of  examples  ;  and  the  waters  of 
Salmacis,  by  some  mysterious  properties,  were  considered  capa 
ble  of  restoring  the  frame,  exhausted  by  profligacy,  to  its  original 
vigor. 

No  one  who  had  broken  an  oath  made  by  the  Styx  (which  not 
•even  the  gods  dared  to  infringe)  could  be  permitted  to  drink  of 
Lethe  or  oblivion  of  the  evils  and  sufferings  which  he  had  been 
doomed  to  bear  for  his  crimes. 

NOTE  19,  p.  78. —     -     -     -     -     Note  towered  the  gonfalon 
Of  Isis,  glowing  with  devices  shame 
Shrunk  to  behold,  the  shapes  of  earth's  worst  sins. 
The  pamylia  and  phallephoria.     The  character  of  the  Romans 
under  the  emperors  renders  it  unnecessary  for  me  to  create  any 
reluctancy  on  their  part  to  gaze  upon  objects,  in  public  proces 
sions,  which  in  other  communities,  would  have  never  been  ima 
gined.     Greece  took  her  religion  from  Egypt — Rome  her's  from 
Greece — and  both  had  public  temples  dedicated  to  the  Aspasias, 
Galateas  and  Campaspes  of  the  age.     The  pastophori  or  priests 
of  Isis,  therefore,  felt  themselves  much  at  home  in  Pompeii. 

NOTE  20,  p.  79. —  The  war  god  with  the  Ancilia. 
The  sacred  shields  of  Rome — borne  in  the  processions  of  Mars , 
who  of  all  the  monstrous  idols  was  the  most  worshipped  because 
the  least  merciful.  Is  it  not  a  singular  anomaly  of  the  human 
mind  that  in  every  creed  the  god  of  vengeance  has  always  been 
the  most  opulent  and  popular?  "  By  what  casuistry  can  infinite 
punishments  be  reconciled  with  finite  offence  ?  or  why  should 
men  be  instructed  to  fear  an  endlessness  of  torment  for  sins  ephe 
meral  as  their  breath  ?" 


N  o  T  m  8.  3§5 

NOTE  2 1 ,  p.  80. — And  we  must  drag  them  to  the  altar. 
Nothing  could  be  more  ominous  of  evil  than  any  resistance  or 
even  reluctancy  on  the  part  of  the  victims  to  be  sacrificed.     That 
the  offering  might  be  auspicious  it  was  necessary  that  the  animal 
should  seem  to  rejoice  in  its  sacred  death. 

NOTE  22,  p.  86. — Obelia. 

A  peculiar  sort  of  sacrificial  cakes. — 

It  was  held  unholy  to  offer  up  any  maimed  or  imperfect  crea 
ture,  and  herein  the  Judean  ecclesiastical  enactments  agreed  with 
those  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  All  their  animal  sacrifices 
were  "  chosen  for  beauty  and  young  quickening  life.". 

Any  blemish  inflicted  by  the  Huntress  or  Pythias,  by  Sun  or 
Moon  namely,  was  deemed  a  particular  offence  to  the  deity. 

NOTE  23,  p.  94. — And  each  Promethean  divination  brought. 

See  Potter's  Antiquities,  Von  Hammer  &c.  for  the  various  su 
perstitious  observances  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  In  the  scene 
of  the  sacrifice  I  have  introduced  evil  omens — such  as  the  Ro 
mans  feared  in  their  height  of  power — throughout  the  ceremonial. 

NOTE  24,  p.  95. — Bore  Pompeii's  loveliest  virgin. 
Human  sacrifices  were  not  uncommon  during  the  earlier  pe 
riods  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  history  ;  and  I  cast  no  additional 
discredit  upon  the  ancient  character  of  heathenism  by  represent 
ing  the  disappointed  consulters  of  the  gods  putting  in  action  their 
cannibal  ferocities.  Iphigenia  and  Jeptha's  daughter  illustrate 
Grecian  mythology  and  Jewish  vows. 

NOTE  25,  p.  96. — When  has  the  bigot,  whatsoever  his  crown. — 
I  appeal  to  all  history,  civil,  sacred,  ecclesiastical  and  profane. 
Persecution  is  not  exclusive  ;  give  preponderance  to  any  sect  or 
faction  and  it  will  tyrannize  ;  the  faggot  would  be  lighted,  the 
dungeon,  filled,  the  deathaxe  red.  The  civil  power  would  collude 
with  the  church  as  it  has  always  done,  when  the  latter  claimed 
the  prerogatives  of  heaven  to  exempt  it  from  human  accountability 
— because  superstitious  ignorance  fears  more  the  anathemas  of  a 
priesthood  than  the  agonies  and  blood  of  a  thousand  victims. 
Representations  of  eternal  punishments  due  to  those  who  indulge 
humanity,  by  sparing  the  proscribed,  the  heretics,  namely — have 
influenced  mankind  far  more  than  the  view  of  nations  banished 
and  provinces  depopulated  by  the  relentless  malignity  of  some 
Torquemada  of  paynimrie  or  Christendom.  Factions  and  sects, 
in  politics  and  religion,  never  yet  won  any  thing  but  ruin  and 
disgrace,  yet  they  are  perpetuated  and  multiplied  as  the  world 
wears  to  waste ! 

30 


309  N  O  T  *  S. 

NOTE  39,  p.  134. —  Though  thou  with  Epaphroditus  thalt  live, 
Empedocles  and  Barcochab  in  fame. 

Epaphroditus,  to  immortalize  himself,  Bet  fire  to  the  temple  of 
Ephesian  Diana  on  the  night  Macedonian  Alexander  was  born  ; 
Empedocles,  to  persuade  men  he  was  a  god,  threw  himself  into 
Mount  ^Etna,  but  the  volcano  cast  out  his  slipper  and  betrayed 
him;  Barcochab,  who  called  himself  the  Son  of  a  Star,  but  whom 
his  countrymen  named  the  Son  of  a  Lie,  was  one  of  the  innumeia- 
ble  false  prophets  of  that  strange  people — the  Jews. 

NOTE  40,  p.  135. —  The  Lectisternian  banquet. 
The  funeral  festival — the  last  of  earthly  indulgencies. 

NOTE  41,  p.  139.—  The  Attic  Sage. 

Socrates.  His  execution  was  delayed  on  the  occurrence  of  a 
sacred  festival — the  annual  voyage  to  the  Immortal  Isle,  where 
none  were  permitted  to  be  born  or  to  die.  Superstition  sported 
with  the  tortures  of  injustice  and  cruelty. 

NOTE  42,  p.  145. — Gaze  from  the  podium. 
What  is  now  the  orchestra — then,  the  envied  place  of  power 
and  privilege. 

NOTE  43,  p.  146. — Mingle  thejiats  of  philosophy. 
However  the  sages  of  antiquity  condemned  the  cruel  sports  of 
their  countrymen,  they  seldom  hesitated  to  witness  and  thereby 
sanction  the  atrocities  which  were  perpetrated  in  every  amphithea 
tre.  Like  the  bullfights  of  modern  Spain,  the  gladiatorial  con 
tests  (the  death-struggle  of  the  agonistes  and  athlete)  always  at 
tracted  the  presence  and  enjoyment  of  the  most  learned,  opulent 
and  famed  of  the  Romans. 

NOTE  44,  p.  147. — Salute  the  ruthless  Genius  of  the  Games. 
Morituri  tesalutant  (the  dead  salute  thec)  were  the  melancholy 
words  of  prophecy  uttered  by  all  condemned  to  fight  in  the  arena. 

NOTE  45,  p.  149. — Mutters  Domitian  and  Locastd's  cup. 
Titus  is  supposed  to  have  been  poisoned  by  his  brother  Dornitian 
— who  was  himself  finally  assassinated.     Locasta  was  the  female 
fiend  of  Colchian  drugs. 

NOTE  46,  p.  150. — Andraste. 
The  British  goddess  of  retribution. 

NOTK  47,  p.  151.—  The  Praetul 
Th«  vicar  general  of  Roman  mythology. 


NOTES.  309 

NOTE  48,  p.  153. — Like  the  great  Pisan. 

Galileo.     See  Brewster's  Life  of  that  great  and  weak  man. 
NOTE  49,  p.  163. — And  low  the  lion  cowered. 

A  scene  somewhat  like  this  is  depicted  in  "  The  Vestal,",  a 
little  work  published  two  or  three  years  ago,  and  written  by  Dr. 
Gray  of  Boston.  But  while  I  am  happy  to  acknowledge  both  the 
pleasure  and  benefit  I  have  derived  from  that  elegant  story,  I  must 
be  allowed  to  say  that  the  causes  of  the  lion's  submission  are  unlike. 
He  cowers  at  the  feet  of  the  aged  Christian  in  that  work,  because 
he  sees  an  old  master  ;  here,  he  is  made  to  submit  on  the  well- 
known  principle  familiar  to  naturalists,  that  during  any  great  con 
vulsion  of  nature,  the  most  savage  animals  forget  their  common 
animosities,  and  that  the  lion  will  not  attack  a  man  who  steadily 
fixes  his  eyes  upon  him. — Having  formed  the  plan  of  the  whole 
poem  and  finished  a  considerable  portion  of  it  previous  to  my 
first  perusal  of  the  "  Tale  of  Pompeii,"  I  was  unwilling  to  forego 
the  scene  I  had  conceived  previous  to  even  the  knowledge  of  the 
publication  of  Dr.  Gray ;  and,  therefore,  have  ventured  to  tread 
upon  ground  which  has  been  trod  by  Milman  and  Croly. 

NOTE  50,  p.  174. —  The  voice  of  age. 

That  is,  of  the  aged  Christian  with  whom  Mariamne  had  taken 
refuge  on  her  escape  from  the  temple  of  Venus. 

NOTE  51,  p.  174. — Tergeste. 
Trieste. 

NOTE  52,  p.  179. —  The  hoar  devoter  of  earth's  diadems. 
The  allusion  throughout  is  to  the  Head  of  what  was,  for  a  long 
time,  the  Catholic  Church  ;  and  even  the  very  strictest  disciple  of 
papal  supremacy  must  lament  the  desecration  of  almost  unlimited 
power  in  the  hands  of  many  who  better  understood  the  law  of 
might,  the  pageantries  of  the  tournament,  the  forms  of  the  duello, 
the  shock  of  war  and  the  dominion  of  the  castle,  than  the  edicts 
and  ceremonies  and  devotions  of  the  pontificate.  The  "  Rock 
amid  the  ruins"  alludes  to  Peter,  the  reputed  founder  of  the 
bishopric  of  Rome — his  Greek  name  means  a  rock. 


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